Yoke
by AlabastR
Summary: Life, death, past, & present, in these trying times, have a way of uniting two smart-mouthed, life-hardened outcasts in their battle for survival. Warning for violence, language, etc. Daryl Dixon/OC, Pru Dorsey
1. Chapter 1

**So. I've never written any fanfic before. I haven't read much, either, to be perfectly honest, so this is all extremely new to me. Let me know what you think, & don't be shy. I figured the story could deal with having another stronger female character in the mix to even up the odds a bit, lol. DARYL DARYL DARYL. I own NOTHING(not the story this is based off of or the characters aside from the OCs)because I'm not intelligent/or creative enough! Enjoy, all!**

* * *

Early morning sunlight peeked through the leaves of the shade tree and through one of the open, screened vents of Daryl's tent. The dappled light slowly crept across the floor where he lay, asleep and shirtless, until it reached his face. The new day's glow on his closed eyelids caused him to stir and inhale sharply as he began to stretch. Bleary eyes blinked open slowly as he moved to sit up, stretch a bit more. He grimaced at the light and the taste of sleep in his mouth.

"...Tastes like shit." he muttered to himself, voice hoarse from rest. He ran a hand over his face as he reached for his shirt and handgun and moved to open the flap of the tent and step out into the late summer's mix of early morning warmth and cool breeze. After a quick piss next to the tree he started walking to up towards the old farmhouse.

As he approached, he could see that unlike usual, he hadn't been the first one awake, this morning. Rick sat on the weathered steps of the porch, brooding. What about, he had no idea and no interest in knowing. His footfalls on the steps as he passes the former Sherriff's Deputy seem to break Rick's concentration.

"Good mornin'." he croaked.

"What's so good about waking up in hell again?" the rustic quipped as he allowed the old screen door to slam shut behind him. Rick conceded to himself with a smirk and dropped his head as he moved to follow the younger man in the house.

The scent of the day's first meal wafted through the house beckoning the men through the rooms into the kitchen. The old man, Herschel was sitting at the kitchen table talking across the room to his daughter, Maggie, who was at the stove, and Lori, Rick's wife, who was mixing a large bowl of scrambled eggs. The three were in good spirits, joking lightheartedly with each other about one of the old fogey's animal stories.

"...And when I went to pull my arm out of that cow's birth canal, I realized my arm, as well as that breech calf, was stuck!" Herschel chuckled. The small group, save for Daryl, laughed. He fought the urge to make some smart remark about the cow being the old man's wife...But he thought better of it. Such jokes, in recent days, he'd begun to try to steer clear of making. Hershel and his family had suffered loss. He understood it and empathized. Merle was still missing. Probably dead. Probably a fucking Geek, now. A rotting, stinking Geek.

"...You okay with that Daryl?" It was Rick's turn to break the other man's deep thought.

"Hnm?" Daryl brought his aimless gaze over to meet Rick's.

"I said, as much as I don't want to do it, we're gunna need to start preparing for the winter. Need supplies. See if we can't find us some more provisions. Maybe some heavier clothing for the cold weather...I was thinking you, me, n' Glenn go scavenge up the road. In town. Find some houses maybe."

"...Yeah. Whatever. Ain't like I got someplace to be." he drawled as he reached for a fresh biscuit that had just come out of the oven.

"Rick," Lori interjected, "We talked about this. I don't want you going back out there. We've got plenty of-".

"Barney Fife's right, lady. We ain't gunna have plenty'a nothin' come winter. 'Specially with your pregnant ass eatin' for two. We should make these runs while we can...While the days are long. And before anyone else decides to go an' do sumthin' dumb & end up Geek meat. "the redneck lectured as he picked at the bread.

Lori gaped and then sighed in frustration. "Fine."

Rick nodded, silently thanking him for his cooperation. "Good. Alright, then...We should leave soon. Don't want to waste too much daylight."

"There's an old gun shop in town," Hershel began. A haunted tone crept over his words like a fog, "Maybe you should stop in there and check things out. Everything probably got looted when things started to get crazy, but it's better to be sure."

"Right." Rick replied.

Daryl grabbed a second biscuit and turned to stroll slowly out of the kitchen. "All you ladies go 'n make up your grocery list. But I'll be damned if I'm gettin' my ass bitten over a box'a tampons."

* * *

The three men had managed to get into town and scavenge a few houses without incident. It was quiet; one would almost dare to say "peaceful", had this been a time before the current state of the world. Instead, the hush over the town's landscape was sinister…lifeless.

Rick, Daryl, and Glenn had worked their way cautiously from a residential area, back to the truck to make a drop of what they'd already picked from the abandoned homes, and then up the street to what used to be the main drag. Abandoned shops lined the street and refuse blew past their feet in the lazy, summer breeze. Rick led the way, slowly, up onto the porch of the gun store. It was right where Hershel said it would be. The windows were barred, but most of the glass behind it was smashed. Dried blood that seemed to have been there since the population began to turn on their own kind stained the wooden walkway beneath their feet. Rick cautiously pulled opened the broken door and peered inside. No walkers...No walking ones, anyway.

A rotting corpse lay motionless on the floor, but its flesh wasn't torn away or cannibalized by other walkers. Rick stood over it gun pointed directly at the back of its head and motioned for Glenn to check if it was dead. Glenn cautiously poked at the carcass with his foot. Then nudged. "I don't see a bullet wou-".

Daryl, in one swift motion, lifted his boot clad foot and stomped upon its head. Putrefaction squeezed from the rotting body spread across the floor.

"Jus' makin' sure." Daryl grumbled as he walked past Rick and Glenn. "No pussy footin' around anymore."

"Ugh." Glenn groaned. "That's one of the worst smelling ones I've been around in a while."

Daryl began looking through drawers and shelves behind the counter. "They all smell that way." he began, "You jus' haven't been that close t'one in a while, man...Safe and sound on yer girlfriend's little farm. They all smell like a hot pile of dog shit."

"Glenn, keep a look out. Don't want to get ambushed in here." Rick suggested. Glenn stepped back over the corpse and took up a spot against the door jam.

A few silent seconds went by as the other two men searched through the store. They weren't finding much. Herschel had been right to guess that it had mostly been cleaned out. A few stray bullets here and there. A box or two of shot gun shells. All none the less precious. Rick made his way carefully into the back stock room. Daryl reached the last cupboard behind the counter and let out a frustrated sigh and closed it roughly after collecting the last couple wayward rounds that had been left behind. "Not much left in here, man."

Just then Rick, chuckling, called out from the back. "Daryl, you might want to get in here!"

Daryl and Glenn both paused and exchanged confused glances for a second before Daryl went to follow Rick into the stock room, crossbow at the ready. He rounded the corner and saw Rick standing, with a smug look pointing to something.

"What the hell you so happy abo-", Daryl paused, taken aback by what he was looking at. A small smile spread across his face as he moved towards a dark back corner of the room. He sauntered over and knelt down to inspect Rick's find.

He whistled. "Well boys, looks like Santa Claus showed up a couple months early, this year!" He dusted off the top of one of the boxes and inspected it further. "Those dumbasses came in and took all the guns but didn't even look at this! Stupid sum'bitches!" In front of him were about ten boxes of arrows, a new belt quiver, and a brand new crossbow. He slung his old one over his shoulder and pulled the new one from its case to check it over.

Not broken. All the parts were there. It had definitely been there for a good, long while, though. It was an older model. Maybe twenty years old, but it was still a great find. He glanced back over to the boxes. "Man, there's even bolts here. Ain't no body uses these things anymore...They'll be good in a pinch, though." He put what arrows he could in his bag and then called back to Glenn. "Hey, Short Round! I need your bag!" Rick went to go trade off positions with Glenn.

"What did you guys find?" he said hopefully as he met Daryl.

"A shit-ton'a arrows. Crossbow...For me." he said smugly as he tossed a few boxes of the arrows at Glenn. "Put these in there." Glenn stashed the boxes in his pack as Daryl hooked the new quiver to his other leg and filled it with five new aluminum arrows.

Just as they had finished stashing all the newly acquired weaponry, Rick called quietly but urgently to them. They rushed back to the storefront.

"I just heard something. Sounded like a scream. I don't know what direction it came from." Rick whispered.

The trio fell into a tense hush as they listened for the scream again. A few silent seconds went by and they heard it again.

Daryl's keen ear was able to figure out what it was. "That ain't no scream," he began, "That's a horse whinny." Glenn let out a sigh of relief and visibly relaxed a bit against the blood smeared wall.

"You sure?" Rick asked as he scanned the desolate street for walkers.

"Yeah, I'm sure. Stupid animal's ringin' the goddamn dinner bell for every Geek in earshot, too. We bes' move 'fore they make their way through."

With that, Rick and Glenn both nodded in agreement and set in motion their retreat back down the block to the truck they'd come in.

They crept through the abandoned street along the sides of the old buildings until they were about a block away from the truck.

"I'd say this was a pretty successful outing." the ever optimistic Glenn, who walked between the other two, piped up. The superstitious redneck turned and quickly slapped the back of the younger man's head. "What's wrong with you, Hong Kong Phooey? Why you gotta go 'n' jinx us like that? We got a block 'n' a half to go!"

Frustrated, Glenn came back at Daryl. "Man, when are you gunna let up on the Asian jokes?"

"A cold day in Hell." he laughed wryly as he watched the direction they'd come from.

"Will you two knock it off?" Rick snapped quietly as they came to the last alley way before they were home free. He peered around the corner into the gap between the buildings and saw three of the undead walkers milling about, soundlessly. He turned back to the other two, motioned for them to be quiet and raised three fingers, then pointed back to the alley. Daryl nudged Glenn roughly and gave him a stern look as if to say, 'See! You did jinx us!'

"Count'a three we make a run for it. If we do this quietly, they won't see us and we won't have to waste ammo." Rick whispered. He looked at the other two men to make sure they were all on the same page and then checked the alley way once more before giving the signal to run.

They took off and made a run for it. Rick and Glenn made it past the alley, but just as Daryl had made his final step in front of the narrow back street, a grey, gnarled arm reached from behind some trash cans and caught his right leg. A walker that Rick had not seen had been resting silently, just out of sight, behind the aluminum trash bins. The tug on his leg caused Daryl to trip and fall, face first, to the hot pavement and the walker moved from behind the cans clumsily, toppling one onto its side. The normally unshakable ruffian let out a pained and startled cry as the walker lurched forward and fell on top of him.

In life, she had been young, high school age. She had been someone's daughter. Now, the bite wounds that marred her face and neck, along with her complete lack of a nose would have made her almost unrecognizable to her loved ones. She hissed and growled like a wild animal as she pulled herself forward.

Glenn and Rick spun around to see what had happened and they both took aim at the decaying corpse. "Daryl!" Rick yelled.

Daryl grunted as he kicked at the encroaching predator furiously. Knowing that the commotion had alerted the other walkers in the alley, he attempted to reach for his crossbow with one arm as he struggled to hold the snarling walker at bay with the other. It had fallen just out of reach.

"SHOOT IT!" he cried to his friends. Rick and Glenn raised their weapons and tried to take aim.

"I don't have a clear shot!" Glenn exclaimed.

"Daryl, move!" Rick ordered.

The walker growled "TO WHERE?" he yelped, "TAKE THE SH-"

The walker fell still suddenly and the fetid air that had been in her lungs rushed out of her body. From out of the alley on the other side of the road, the horse they had heard earlier appeared and whinnied, loudly. The rider took aim again and fired soundlessly a second, third, and forth time. The sound of dead weight hitting the pavement could be heard just out of sight. Daryl grunted once more and hefted the limp cadaver off of him and scrambled out from underneath it before it decided to come after him again. "Fuck!" he uttered breathlessly, "Why didn't you assholes shoot?"

Glenn leaned forward, set his rifle down, and rested his hands on his knees. "Oh man.", he exclaimed. "...Dude there wasn't a clear shot!"

"Next time, you shoot! I'd rather go out that way than become Geek food waiting for your sorry asses to pull the trigger." Daryl gruffed as he rose to his feet and retrieved his crossbow.

The sound of the horse nickering brought Rick and Daryl's eyes to it. They stared at the rider incredulously. She was about thirty, maybe a bit younger. It was hard to tell what was underneath all the dirt. Her hair was long, black, and matted in some places. Her jeans, tshirt, and hooded sweatshirt were filthy and covered in dried blood. Over her hoodie she wore a chest gun holster that was just a bit too large to fit her frame. In it, a small handgun fitted with a suppressor. The other handgun matched and was still in her hand. She sat upon the horse glaring back at the men.

"Could ya jerks have been any friggen louder? Why don't ya get a damn megaphone and announce ya'selves next time? Ya might draw a better crowd." Her accent was heavy and garish. Not from anywhere around there. Not from the south, at all.

Taken aback by the woman's attitude, Rick paused to think of what to say before opening his mouth. "Uh. Thank you, miss. For helping our friend...We're sorry to have made such a ruckus. We were just passing through. About to leave."

"Good," she replied, "Last two idiots I let hang around were not'in but trouble." With that she turned the horse around and began to leave.

"Wait a second!" Daryl called, "That ain't your horse!...That's the sum'bitch that Herschel let me borrow and threw me last week! Hey wait!"

"Ya ain't taking my horse. I found her. She's mine now."

He jogged to catch up with her. "You find a horse in full tack wanderin' around 'n' just claim it to be yours? What kinda bullshit is that?"

She stopped the horse abruptly and glared down at Daryl and then back to Rick and Glenn. "Man, Are ya fucking slow? What the hell are you guys toting a retard around for? Are ya trying to get ya'selves killed? Look around, Jim Bob! I didn't exactly have the time go putting up "FOUND PONY" fliers...Besides; I doubt _you've_ been going door to door asking to borrow stuff from people lately, either."

Daryl bristled. "Fuck you, bitch!"

Glenn and Rick stifled their laughter. The hotheaded hunter turned and shot them another glare. She turned to leave once again.

"Now wait!" Rick called to her, his voice shaking off the laughter and filling with concern, "You got a family? Or a group to go back to?"

She stopped the horse yet again. Annoyance filling her voice she replied, "No. Like I just said, last two guys I fell in with were trouble and ended up getting themselves killed. I got me. That's enough to look after anymore."

"You're all alone?" Glenn asked. The sadness and disbelief in his voice was audible. His mind immediately went to Maggie. He'd want someone to take her in if they ever got separated. Or if the unthinkable happened.

"Rick, man, we can't leave her here. She's got nobody."

"You ain't seriously considerin' bringin' this uppity bitch back with us? Man, ya'll have lost your damn minds!" Daryl protested.

"Really. Thanks for the offer, but I'm not interested." the young woman laughed derisively.

"Now listen," Rick started, "Glenn here is right. It wouldn't be right leaving a woman all alone out here. You should come with us back to our camp a few miles out. There's safety in numbers. We've got a decent sized group; women and children, a good supply of food and water, and a safer location outside of town. And honestly, we could always use someone else who's a good shot."

She looked at him, brow furrowed, considering what he'd said for a moment.

"Besides," he continued, "You DO have our friend's horse."

"How do I know ya not lying?" she asked defensively. "How do I know ya not gunna...Gang up on me or something?"

Daryl scoffed. "Don't flatter yourself, sister."

"Ya wish I was ya sister, ya backwater douchebag. Then ya might know what to do with me if ya ever managed to get ya hands on me.", she mocked.

"Man, I LIKE you!" Glenn said happily.

"You bes' shut UP, Kim-Chi!" he shouted back as he stormed over to him. Glenn cowered.

"Okay, enough. Enough!" Rick snapped as he put himself between the two. "We need to get off the street. I'm sure some other walkers heard what happened a minute ago and they're headed this way, albeit slowly. Are you gunna come with us?"

She thought about it again for a moment. "Yeah, I guess. But if you guys pull anything, or try to steal my shit, I WILL kill ya."

"Yeah. Right." Daryl muttered as he hopped in the bed of the pickup.

"You got some place where you've been holed up close by? We can go grab your stuff and then head out." Rick suggested.

"Yeah," she said, "Two blocks over. Follow us."


	2. Chapter 2

The men followed the stranger the short distance down another alley and out onto a side street. When they emerged, they saw her dismount the horse in front of what used to be an auto body garage and look around in all directions, obviously checking for walkers. It had become a daily habit for those who were fortunate enough, or unfortunate, depending on how you looked at it, to continuously be aware of any potential threat stumbling into their direction.

They pulled up just in back of her and quickly exited the vehicle. She stood and looked down the street, the opposite direction from which they came, drew her gun, and took aim at a lone walker stumbling towards them. She pulled the trigger and the walker slumped suddenly before hitting the ground. She holstered her gun again and met Glenn's impressed gaze and moved towards the concrete building's front door.

"Well, come on in.", she uttered as she opened the door and led the horse inside. The group walked into a dark room that smelled distinctly of motor oil and horse. Rick and Daryl reached for their flashlights and took in their surroundings. Two cars that were being worked on at one time were still on lifts above their heads and there were tools and car parts all around them. This was obviously where the horse had been kept. There were a few small piles of manure.

"I nev'a was much of a housekeeper." she joked as she led the men to the right of the large room and into an office. She opened the door and went immediately behind the desk and retrieved a backpack and a sleeping bag. The men looked around and saw a decent amount of canned food and water stacked against the far wall; enough to feed one person for over a month. She also had a handful of extra blankets, what looked like fire wood, and a few more boxes of rounds that must have come from the gun store.

Glenn peered just past the firewood and exclaimed excitedly, "Where'd you get all that liquor?" There were about ten bottles of assorted inebriants.

"I thought you were all done with booze, little man?" Daryl teased.

The young lady chuckled. "Yea, I found it all. Seemed like a shame to leave it behind. I figured I could always use it to barter or somethin' if I really needed to."

"This is a pretty nice setup you got here, uh..." Rick paused. "I'm sorry. I didn't catch your name yet."

She looked up as she jammed a pair of jeans that were hanging from a nail on the wall. "Prudence Dorsey...Well, 'Pru', actually. No one ever called me by my full name."

"Good to know you, Pru. I'm Rick. This here is Glenn," he pointed, "And Daryl." She gave a forced half smile and nodded.

"You have a really strong accent. You're not from here originally, are you?" Glenn asked.

She scoffed in reply, "That obvious, huh? Yeah, no. I'm from Jersey. My sister and I started to move south when everything turned 'cause my dad, like most old people from Jersey, retired to fuckin' Florida. Tried for weeks to get to him...Then one day I woke up and realized how stupid it was to keep trying. Even if he was still alive, which I know he isn't, I'd never find him." She pocketed a small hunting knife and stuck a claw hammer through one of her belt loops. "Besides, if I did find him, he'd kick my ass for getting' my sister killed."

Rick cleared his throat. "I...I'm sorry about your sister."

"Me too." she said softly.

There was a crunching sound. Daryl pointed his flashlight downward to look beneath his boot to see a small pile of animal bones. He knelt down and picked through them, picking one up to inspect it. He gave it a sniff and looked up at Pru, dumbfounded. "You? Caught a wild pig?"

"A piglet." she corrected without glancing up. "But yea, a day or two ago. I was out looking for water and it wandered through the yard of the house I went into. The best I've eaten in a really long time."

"Why haven't you caught a pig yet, Daryl?" Glenn asked honestly. Daryl turned and whipped the small bone at him.

Glenn flinched. "WHAT?" the young man cried.

"Okay, let's get going." Pru declared. She pointed to the supplies on the floor. "Can you guys grab some'a this stuff and help me out here?" Rick, Glenn, and Pru crouched down to retrieve the materials. "I'll cover us." Daryl offered as he followed them out. She grabbed the horse's reins and led her to the door behind the three men. "So, you promise you're not just gunna shoot me and run off with my stuff." she half joked.

"We ain't like that." Rick assured. He looked to Daryl who nodded and slowly opened the front door of the shop. He spotted one walker just on the other side of the truck. A second was down the block a ways, meandering slowly in their direction. He burst through the door and silently dispatched the shambling corpses.

"Okay.", he grunted as he hopped into the truck's bed among what they'd gathered earlier. He motioned for the other three to toss Pru's supplies in the back with him.

She quickly hoisted herself up onto the horse's back. "How far out is this camp of yours?" she asked Rick as he closed the driver's side door.

"About five or six miles down the road. It's not bad."

"Okay. Keep it at about twenty five so we can keep up with you." she shouted as she brought the horse into a trot beside the truck.

As the truck picked up speed, it pulled a safe distance in front of Pru and the horse. As Daryl rode in the back, he searched through the things that the group had collected on their outing. He found a fifth of Old Crow, cracked it open, and took a huge slug of the booze. The alcohol felt warm and comforting traveling down his throat.

He looked at the bottle. Studied it for a bit. Glenn had been right. Today's run had been successful. A new crossbow. Booze. He looked up from the bottle and took another swig, then turned to meet Pru's eyes as she rode the galloping horse behind the moving vehicle. He shot her a scowl.

"Too bad we just ended up with another goddamn stray." he thought silently.


	3. Chapter 3

The warm sun began to dip towards the horizon as Andrea and Dale sat atop the old RV. The long day's chores had been finished a few hours ago and whoever wasn't preparing dinner for the whole camp was either napping or keeping watch.

"Man, they've been gone a LONG time, haven't they?" the wiry blonde asked, a hint of worry in her voice. Dale, shielding his eyes against the harsh glare of the evening sun, shifted forward and strained to see something. A small smile spread across the stouthearted old man's face. A small cloud of dust kicked up by the truck was visible far down the long, dirt driveway that lead up to the farm.

"Speak of the devil." he said quietly. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand and tapped Andrea on the leg with his hat before placing it back upon his head. "C"mon, now. Let's go help them out." he smiled.

Rifles slung off their shoulders, they climbed down the old, rusty ladder of Dale's RV and headed towards the front of the house. Dale saw Rick and Lori's young son wandering around in front of the house and shouted happily to him, "Hey Carl! Your dad's back! Why don't you run in the house and tell your mom!"

The boy looked up. He smiled at Dale and nodded. Carl then happened to look past him and Andrea, his eyes quickly finding the approaching truck. He noticed something else moving along side of the truck, though, and a look of confusion washed over the small boy's face. He knew immediately it wasn't a walker. It was far too large and it was keeping pace with the truck. "Hey," he pointed down the road as he climbed the old porch steps, "What's that?"

Dale and Andrea looked at the boy and then back down the road. It was a horse, and someone he didn't recognize was riding it. "Carl, go get your mom. And Herschel." Dale ordered firmly. Carl turned and ran in the house.

"Is that a woman on that horse?" Andrea asked.

"Looks to be." Dale mumbled in reply as he scratched at his thick, white beard.

The screen door to the old farm home swung open and Lori appeared followed by Herschel, Carl, Maggie, and T-Dog.

"What's going on?" Rick's wife asked as she crossed her arms over her chest. An action she seemed to do often, when something was wrong or unsettling. As if to steady or comfort herself.

Dale pointed cryptically. The group squinted and tried to focus.

"Oh my god,", Maggie drawled, "They found Nelly!", she said as she walked down the porch.

Just then, Carol rounded the side of the house. Since the loss of Sophia a few days earlier, Carol had been spending more and more time wandering the vast acreage around the farm. No longer tied down by responsibility or worry for any loved ones, she made herself scarce, which was presumably, her way of grieving. She looked up to see the group staring off down the drive. When she followed their line of sight, she was met with the truck and the horse.

"...What?" she mouthed quietly.

After a few more seconds the truck pulled up in front of the other survivors. The doors of the truck swung open and a smiling Rick stepped out to greet his wife and son with open arms. Herschel's daughter, Maggie, jumped down off the porch and embraced her new flame, Glenn. The second the truck came to a halt, without word or hesitation, Daryl stood, gathered what he could of his new things, and hopped out the bed of the truck. He paused for a second, turning back to retrieve the half drained bottle of Old Crow. He began to stagger off, back towards his tent.

"You're welcome!" Pru shouted after him.

He turned around so as to walk backwards for a few paces & flipped Pru the bird. She laughed and dismounted.

"Fuck her. Fuck the rest of them." he thought as he took another swig.

He made it back to his tent, kicked his worn boots off, and climbed inside. He lay down among his clothes and sleeping bag fully prepared to spend the rest of the evening drinking. After a few moments, he heard some rustling outside. Despite his senses being dulled by a bit by the liquor, he quickly sprang to his feet and grabbed for his crossbow again.

"Daryl?" a woman's voice called, "Are you in there?" He recognized the voice and relaxed but simultaneously became agitated. It was Carol. With a frustrated huff he smacked the flap of the tent back open. "What do YOU want?"

She paused, nervously wringing her hands. "I-I came to…You're covered in blood. You're not hurt again, are you?" He growled loudly like a feral dog before rushing out of the tent. Carol tensed instinctively.

"Man, why can't ya'll just leave me alone?" he snapped as he stormed past her, barefoot and bottle in hand. Carol frowned as she watched the angry man disappear around the back of the barn. Reluctantly, she made her way back up to the farmhouse, fighting with herself about whether she should have gone after him the entire way.

* * *

With the tables set, everyone began filing into the home's dining room for their evening meal. Pru was sitting at the table as everyone buzzed past, either trying to find a seat or serving the meals. Dale sat to her right, making polite conversation with her and Andrea. The seat directly to her left was open still. Everyone began to settle and converse. The door swung open and Shane strode in lazily. He walked to the middle of the room before looking up and seeing her. He paused for a second, taking in the new face at the table before opening his mouth to speak.

"Well. Who's our dinner guest?" he asked to no one in particular. Pru looked him over. He was large and powerful looking. The half-smile plastered across his face was insincere and slightly unsettling.

Rick glanced only slightly over his shoulder to answer his friend's question while looking at the lady in question. "Uh, Shane. This here is Pru. We ran into her today during our run."

She smiled politely to him as he continued to walk over to the table and took a seat directly across from her. He nodded in return.

Rick took a second before he continued. "If Pru here wouldn't have shown up, we woulda lost Daryl to some walkers...She, uh, saved him." Everyone in the room froze, looking up at either Rick or Pru. She felt awkward. Obviously, this was a big deal to these people for some reason.

She tried to break the silence and the tension. "...Was I not supposed to help him? I mean, the guy seems like a complete dick, but I figured maybe someone might miss him."

Silence.

…For a second, anyway. Shane, T-Dog, Maggie, and Glenn began to snicker quietly. Then Carl and Lori, who was desperately trying not to laugh, began. The snickering became louder until everyone in the room except for Carol was laughing.

"Yeah, you're gunna fit in just fine 'round here." T-Dog guffawed.

"He didn't hurt himself again, did he?" Carol asked looking between both Rick and Glenn. Her tone was serious, concerned. Glenn shook his head, mouth full of food.

"Only thing he hurt is his pride, I think." Rick offered, nodding to the empty seat next to Pru. "He's fine."

With the ice officially broken, the farm's survivors ate their meal, drank some of the alcohol that Pru had brought, and conversed. They began to open up to Pru and asked her about herself.

"So, what part of 'Joizey' are you from?" Glenn asked as making fun of her heavy accent and chuckling. Pru poured herself another small glass of Jack Daniels and answered graciously. "Walpack Township", she smiled.

"Never heard of it.", Dale said.

"No one has. That's why I lived there. Jersey isn't all traffic jams and sewage treatment plants like everyone thinks...Well...'thought', I guess, would be more correct now, huh? Walpack's a lot like here. Its tiny. I was born in Manhattan...Never belonged in the city, though. I left my Dad's when I was 15. Ran off...Went to live with a relative in the Boonies. My dad was pissed. Stopped talking to me."

"M'sorry.", Lori offered.

Pru shrugged. "The man was no good, anyway. He was an asshole. Anyway...My aunt died, like, 10 years ago. Left me this little house in the woods right along the Delaware. I started bartending at a little dive on some stretch of highway...You know, just to keep the lights on and shit...Fund my hobbies...Live simply. ..I loved that house." she said nostalgically.

"So why not stay there? I mean, if it was rural like this, you would have been basically in the same situation, right?" Andrea asked sounding genuinely curious.

"My kid sister still lived in the city. She was going to school to be a Shrink. When shit went south, I had to get her out of there. And then she got scared...Wanted to go get my Dad, even though I thought it was a waste. So we left. Came down here...After she died, I gave up. What the fuck was the point anymore, right?" She stretched a bit and moved to take her hoodie off. Upon removing it, her tattooed covered arms and chest were exposed. She felt the eyes of everyone in the room crawling over her skin. Some judging. Some just taking in the colors. She leaned back in her chair, the front two legs coming off the floor.

"So, if you don't mind me asking, where'd you come across those guns a'yours?" Rick asked.

"Ha. No, I don't mind.", she grinned, "Some dumb Tony Soprano lookin' bastard. Walked right up to one of those things...Idunno. Maybe he just gave up. I don't know why he wouldn't have just blown his brains out, though. That would have been a lot quicker. Smarter. Anyway, they ate him, I killed them...Went through his pockets." She put her guns on the table.

Shane whistled. He looked to Pru, wordlessly asking permission to look them over. "I 'spect these suppressors sure come in handy."

"Yeah. I don't know where I'd be if I hadn't found them." She trailed off and glanced down at the unfinished food on her plate. She frowned. She was suddenly no longer hungry. "I'm, uh- I'm pretty tired." she muttered.

"Of course," Dale turned to her. "You can stay in the RV with Carol and me. It'll be a tight fit, but you'll have a place to rest your head. "

She rested a hand on his shoulder in thanks. He went to get up and show her out but she insisted he stay put. "No, no. I know where it is. Thank you." she smiled.

She bid everyone a good night, put her filthy hooded sweatshirt back on, and retrieved her guns from Shane before collecting her things and making her way out to the RV. The evening air was heavy and the season's nocturnal insects buzzed and flitted about through the trees, calling audibly. When she reached the old camper, she decided to not even bother with going to the back where the beds would be. She remembered that Dale said he and Carol had been staying in there. The last thing she wanted to do was to fall asleep in someone else's bed. She looked to her right and saw that the front passenger seat was quite large. It would be better than fine. Quietly, she closed the door behind her and tossed her backpack on the table. She sat down heavily in the seat and spun it so it faced the large front window, picking her feet up and resting them on the broad dash. She stretched and relaxed down into the seat. Before she knew it she had drifted off.

She woke abruptly. A shout from outside the RV sent a chill down her spine. Without hesitation she reached for her gun, stuffed her feet back into her shoes, and felt blindly around the dark space for the door. It wasn't the other members of the camp. She was sure of it. From what she could hear coming from the back of the RV, it was some time later in the evening. Dale could be heard, snoring. She assumed everyone else had followed suit. Pru steadied herself before she slowly pushed the door open. Stepping out into the night, she surveyed the area, looking behind her and out into the darkness. Another sound; a low, guttural groan. She slowly inched her way around the RV, pausing before going around the front. She quickly turned to check the area and saw a human form crouching on the ground, breathing heavily. It looked up.

"I ain't even healed up from last time 'n' you're fixin' to shoot my ass, too?", a man's voice slurred.

"Daryl?" she hissed. She rubbed her face, exasperated, and holstered her weapon. Daryl spit into the grass and sighed. Pru grabbed a tiny flashlight out of her pocket and illuminated his face. The glint off a bottle at his feet caught her eye. He'd consumed more than half of the bottle of Old Crow.

"Figures...What the hell are you doing wandering around in this shape?" she scolded.

"...Man can't go for a damn walk?" he hiccupped. The woman rolled her eyes and stuck the flashlight between her teeth. She bent down, reaching for his upper arm to help him find his feet. The second her hands made contact with his skin he moved as if she'd burned him with her touch.

"I'kin do it m'sself!" he snapped, slurring his words clumsily. He yanked his arm out of her grip. She threw her hands up.

"Fine! Just get your dumb, redneck ass inside. I don't want the first thing I see in the morning to be your intestines hanging from someone's mouth."

He groaned again. He steadied himself on the bumper of the RV and went to stand up. After a step or two in her direction, he swerved and almost tripped again. She grabbed his arm again. He didn't fight this time, but he did berate her. "I said I'kin do it! Ain't you got ears?"

"Ain't you got a brain?" she mimicked his accent & his tone mockingly. "Just...Come on." He grunted and finally allowed her to help him toward the steps and into the RV. She released his arm and he collapsed down onto the floor.

"Bitch.", he murmured.

"You aren't the first one to call me that, honey. Try for something more original." she teased in a whisper. His only reply was a weak groan. She sat back down in her makeshift bed and gave him one final look. Apparently he'd decided that the spot where he'd fallen would make a fine place to pass out.

"You gunna be okay there?" she whispered to him.

"M'fine."

She breathed deeply. Leaving it at that, she leaned back into the seat and drifted off.


	4. Chapter 4

He was jolted into consciousness by the slam of the door. Dazed, he scrambled to his feet and reached for his knife. In the seconds it took him to realize where he was and that no one in the RV or outside seemed to be screaming, bloodied, or in any sort of immediate danger, he also became aware of the fact that his head seemed to have been crushed under the wheels of a truck and whatever was in his stomach wanted out as soon as possible. His eyes crossed and he brought a hand to his head. "Ugh."

Hangover realized, he steadied himself against the table under which he'd passed out and reached across to the sink for some water. He remembered back to the last time he'd felt like this. It was before the world was in the state it was, months and months ago. Almost a year. He'd bagged the largest buck he'd ever seen and celebrated as he cleaned the carcass in his yard. He smirked at the memory.

He downed the water and splashed some on his face and then thought back to the sound of the door slamming shut. It had been forced. A harder sound than what it normally made. He shuffled to the door and pulled it open. Pru sat just outside in one of Dale's folding chairs cleaning her guns with a smug smile across her lips. She glanced sideways at the man standing over her.

"One too many?" She stifled a laugh. He sneered.

"I'm fine. Ain't nothing new."

"Mhmm. Well next time try not to get so slammed that you decided to leave yourself out as bait." she chuckled.

He scoffed and began to walk away.

"You seem dead set on ending up someone's lunch. If I were you, baby boy, I'd just end it the easy way."

He stopped in his tracks and bit down on his lower lip. His expression transformed into a snarl. That tiny jab pushed him over the edge. He was reminded of how his father and Merle had tormented him when he was a child. They'd drilled it into his head that he was weak. Worthless. Even up until Merle went missing recently, it was one of his older brother's favorite things to tell him.

_"You ain't gunna make it, Baby Brother."_

Her comment hit him a bit too close to home. He found himself turning on his heel and stalking back to where she'd been sitting. He came within inches of her and moved in to loom over her. Intimidate her. That's what he'd do. Maybe then she'd keep her smart mouth shut and stay away from him. As he went to grab the lawn chair's arm rests, without missing a beat, she pulled her gun & stuck it in his face.

He knew she was bluffing. He grabbed the gun and guided her hand, pressing the barrel to his forehead.

"You gunna use it, little girl?" he snarled. Spittle sprayed from his mouth like venom and landed in tiny droplets on her face and neck. His light eyes were on fire. He looked rabid.

She cocked the gun and a grim smile slowly played across his mouth.

"I've put down things way less pathetic than you, lately." she said flatly. They locked eyes for an eternal moment, trying to get one another to admit defeat; neither would accept a loss.

"What the hell?" Dale exclaimed. The old man had come around the side of the massive vehicle, stumbling upon the stalemate. Pru averted her gaze from Daryl's icy eyes.

"Just having a little chat, Dale." she lied coolly. Daryl, still watching her, scoffed and strode off towards the house to get some food into his aching stomach.

"...And wash yourself! You smell like a whore's ass!" she called after him.

He allowed himself a small grin. He'd won the standoff.

* * *

"What in god's name was that about?" Dale asked uneasily, "Are you alright?"

The man that had stood over her a few short seconds ago had made it most of the way across the field towards the old house. She'd watched him the whole way, breathing deeply, trying to steady her breathing. Laughing weakly, she replied, "I'm fine. Really."

"What happened?" he asked laying a hand on her shoulder. She sighed.

"It wasn't his fault. I'd been...You know, uh," She paused, flustered and made an ambiguous gesture with her hands, as if she was physically trying to pluck the word from the air. "…Antag'nizin' him since yesterday. I guess he'd just had enough."

"If there's one person around here you don't want to butt heads with, it's Daryl. He's a good man and he's come a long way since I've met him, but his temper...Messing with him is like teasing a scared, starving animal that's been backed into a corner." he shook his head. "Just don't cross him, Pru."

Considering what he's said for a moment, she turned to Dale as he slowly sat down on the RV's steps.

"'Come a long way'?", she repeated.

His eyes widened and he nodded. "Yeah. When we first ended up in this group, he was just as nasty as that brother of his, Merle. It was like the man, for some reason, had him wound so tight that he'd snap at anyone for the slightest thing. He'd been selfish, aggressive...Just the most unpredictable person you could imagine."

"Why am I not surprised?" she mused.

"Now, with Merle gone, he cares about people. Of course he'd never admit to it..." he chuckled, "But he does. He almost died looking for Carol's little girl."

There was a long moment of quiet as she thought about the information she'd been given by her new friend. She thought back to Daryl's intense eyes and his unwillingness to back down. He wasn't an asshole, apparently. That was a defense mechanism, just as her posturing had been.

"Well that's nice. Now I kinda feel bad for messing with him." she laughed.

"Well, just don't feel too bad." he smiled, "He can dish it out. He should be able to take some, too." With that, he stood up and moved to the ladder, climbing atop the RV and began his lookout duty for the day.


	5. Chapter 5

He sat on the remnants of a long decayed house's old, stone chimney, sharpening the blade of his buck knife. He was a way's out from the camp. Away from the group. After spending a good chunk of the day lying low, tending to the mess he'd made of himself the night before, he'd managed to rouse himself and find some good, sturdy sticks to whittle down into new arrows. Sure, he'd had plenty now, what with the new ones he'd just acquired the other evening, but nowadays, there was no such thing as having too much ammo. Now he sat silently, readying his blade for stripping the thick bark off fresh, thin switches. An alert comfort had washed over him. This was when he was happiest. No one bothering him. No one asking him to do this or that. Just surviving. Living. Alone.

As he shaved away the excess wood from what would eventually become a new bolt for his crossbow, his mind wandered back to evenings like this that he would spend as a young boy and a teenager, off on his own in the hills, far north of this farm. Banks County, Georgia; his home.

He would get into it with his father about next to nothing; mud tracked through the house after playing in the creek, $5 missing off the kitchen table, a missing beer or cigarettes, or Merle fucking up and the cops dragging his ass home, with a much younger Daryl just happening to be within reach after his delinquent brother would run off again.

Merle, like most older siblings, would tease and taunt the young boy, but often he'd take it much too far and for no good reason. Once when Daryl had been 12 or 13, from what he recalled, he had required reading for homework. Daryl, as a child, wasn't what you'd call a 'good' student, but the young boy had been a closet bookworm. Merle saw him reading the book and beat the boy mercilessly, calling him a "nerd" and a "faggot". That was the night that his own brother, his only friend, broke two of his ribs in the name of 'toughening him up'.

He'd endure whatever his dad or brother would dish out, limp off to his room, bleeding and bruised, and then climb out his window, sneaking off for days at a time, until things blew over. Those nights he spent in the woods alone were the safest he'd ever felt. Despite being completely exposed and solitary, he knew he had only two things in the world he'd always be able to rely on and they were there with him; himself and the woods.

A slight rustle in the brush snapped him from his calm, and brought his attention to the tree line at his left. He readied his knife and crouched defensively waiting for whatever it was to come through the vegetation. When he realized who it was he huffed angrily.

"Christ Almighty! I can't shake any'a y'all!"

Pru walked over calmly. She looked a little more bedraggled than she had this morning. The knees of her olive green cargo pants were stained with thick mud and her hair was tied on top of her head in a messy bun, sweat dampening the tiny hairs at her temples and the back of her neck.

"Just the man I was looking for.", she voiced evenly. He rocked back on his heels and planted himself back against the cool stone, gathering up the arrow he'd just discarded. He rolled his eyes at her declaration. "What, you worked up the nerve to pull the trigger?"

She stopped a foot or two away from where he sat and just stood for a moment, thinking about what had happened earlier in the day and what Dale had told her. She released a long breath. It was taking quite a bit of will power to not fire right back at him. She composed herself and stepped forward, turning to ensconcing herself down on the stone ledge next to him. He withdrew slightly, suspicious, and looked up at her, a mixture of annoyance and confusion played over his features. She rummaged through her bag, wordlessly for a second.

"What?" he demanded.

From her small leather pouch she pulled a freshly killed rabbit by its ears, its face slightly bloodied. She plopped the animal's body on the ledge between them. "A peace offering." she answered. Still not comprehending, his scowl deepened.

"I- I'm sorry about this morning. I realized that since we met yesterday we've kinda been at each other's throats & I wanna squash the bullshit now, before it continues. Everyone's pretty set on you being a good guy-"

A low, amused grunt escaped his throat.

She continued, "And you're useful...I wanna make sure you and I are alright, I guess?"

"Useful?" he repeated indignantly as he scraped away at his arrow, "I see. You think I'm some fucking errand boy like the rest of those fools...You want something from me."

"That's not what I'm saying. Or expecting." She studied his profile for a bit before she turned to face forward, shaking her head & standing to leave, rabbit in hand. "...Or don't accept it. Whatever. I don't even know why I both-"

He watched her for a second out of the corner of his eye. If this was a sincere attempt at ceasefire, in his world, an offering like this meant a great deal. Lunging forward, he snatched the lagomorph from her hand by its hind leg. "Ain't said I won't accept it.", he ground out as he looked the animal over.

He plopped back down in his seat. Half smiling, she sat back down next to him and began cleaning the dirt out from under her nails. Studying the wound on its head, he realized the rabbit hadn't been shot.

"You got close enough to smash its head?" he asked, skeptical of her abilities. Even _he_ wasn't good enough to be able to sneak up that close to a _rabbit_.

"Nah.", she laughed. She reached into one of her cargo pockets and pulled out a small, black frame. As she unfolded it, it became apparent to him what it was. A wrist brace slingshot. She pulled a small, rounded stone from her pocket and motioned to a knot on the tree across from where they sat. Pulling the band into herself, she lined up the shot and let the rock fly. It impacted the tree's wood in the intended spot with a loud crack. He blinked. Suddenly, he'd entered new territory. Daryl Dixon was impressed, though he wasn't about to admit it.

She shrugged and looked at the notch the stone had inflicted on the tree. "I'll never run out of ammo." she delivered, not even trying to make conversation. Just talking out loud.

He eyeballed her, still feeling a bit cagey about her sudden change towards him. "Ain't you just full'a surprises?"

She turned to him and let out a quiet snort in amusement. A woman's figure moving towards them caught her eye. She nodded to her. "Lori." Daryl turned his visage to see her walking over as well. Just what he needed. More fucking people.

It was a minute before Lori was in shouting distance. "You two moving to the suburbs?" she called. Neither of them responded to her attempt at humor. Daryl busied himself with his knife again and Pru folded her slingshot & put it back in her pocket.

"Listen, Daryl," Lori continued, "Beth's in some kind of catatonic shock. We need you to go get Herschel. He up and left this morning. Rick thinks he fell off the wagon and went into town."

Daryl's voice was low and unconcerned as he responded. "Yeah. So what?"

Lori crouched down next to Daryl and replied in a soft voice, "So I need you to go into town real quick & bring him and Rick back."

Pru found herself glaring at Lori. Her tone as she spoke to Daryl was patronizing, as if she was speaking to a young child in an attempt to quell a tantrum. Sure, he probably_ was_ about to fly off the handle, but if she was going to ask him to do something, she reasoned to herself, why not just spit it out?

Lori regarded Pru for a moment, noticing she had been staring. She averted her eyes and Lori looked back to Daryl. She called his name to get his attention and he looked at her, face devoid of readable emotion.

"Your bitch went window shoppin'. You wan'im? Go fetch 'im yourself." He turned back to his blade before finishing, "I got better things to do."

The frustration in Lori's voice was audible when she spoke next. "What's the matter with you? Why would you be so selfish?"

"Selfish?" The hunter stood upright, backing away from Lori as if he was subconsciously trying to put some distance between them so she was out of striking range. "Listen to me Olive Oyl, I was out there lookin' for that little girl every, single day! Took a bullet and an arrow in the process! Don't you tell me 'bout gettin' my hands dirty!" he spat. "You want those two idiots, have a nice ride...I'm done looking for people." He sat back down, going back to whittling again, effectively ending the conversation in his mind.

Pru cleared her throat and piped up, "I could go."

Lori turned sharply at her voice, as if she'd forgotten she was there. "No Pru. It's fine." Lori leered at him, her eyes looking angry and desperate, before turning and stalking off back in the direction she'd come from.

She waited a few seconds before she spoke again. "What I say?"

The angry hick sighed loudly and rolled his eyes, just wanting to have his peace and quiet back. Pru took it as him blowing her off. She wasn't surprised after his outburst, but admittedly a bit annoyed at him because they'd managed to have their first civil conversation a mere minute ago. She got up and brushed herself off and began to walk away.

He looked up as she walked off and thought for a second, turning his eyes down to the fresh kill sitting next to him. "Hey!" he called. Pru stopped and turned back to face him. He hesitated for a moment, staring at her silhouetted figure, the sun setting behind her over the fields. "Huntin' tomorrow."

She nodded silently and turned to leave. He watched her go, chastising himself inwardly for extending the invitation. When she was out of view he scrubbed his hands over his dirty face. "Goddammit."


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks to those who are reading! Hope you guys like some SAD, because you're about to get hit in the face with it in the form of Pru's back story. Let me know how you're liking things, so far! I DON'T OWN(TWD CHARACTERS OR ANYTHING HAVING TO DO WITH IT!), SO DON'T SUE! ENOYYYYYYYYYYYY.**

"Pru! Can you pull the fuck over already? I'm about to burst!" the young woman cried impatiently.

"Do you want to get down there, or not? If you want to make sure he's okay, you better learn to hold it. We can't keep stoppin' every couple of hours because your bladder's the size of a fucking thimble." Pru reached over to the passenger seat to roughly yank the bottle of water from her younger sister's hand. The car swerved slightly to the right as she sped down the long stretch of desolate back road. She corrected the car's unintended swing before turning back to admonish her junior again.

"And this isn't fuckin' helping! We need to save these! Christ, Mer! We're not going camping. If you haven't noticed we're in a real bad way!"

Meredith reached over and snatched the bottle back, opening it and taking a sip in defiance. Pru looked from the road over to her sibling just in time to see her draining the last bit of fluid from the bottle. She eyed her passenger angrily for a moment before suddenly slamming on the breaks. The car skid to an abrupt halt, jostling the two travelers.

"Are you fucking insane?" Meredith crowed. Her eyes were now huge as saucers behind her skewed glasses.

"Are you fucking five years old?" she shot back. They stared daggers at each other for a moment before Pru spoke again as she turned the key in the vehicle's ignition off, tone more even and quiet than before. "...Just get out and piss already."

In a huff, Meredith tossed the small leather bag in her lap to the floor, unfastened her seatbelt so she could step out, and slammed the door hard enough to shake the whole car.

"Uh-huh...And hurry up!" Pru tacked on.

She slumped a bit in her seat in a feeble attempt at stretching. When she realized that wasn't working, she gave up and roughly sat up, pressing her back into the rough material of her CJ's seat. She listened to the sound of the crickets and cicadas that filled the vegetation surrounding the road and the jingling of her key chain for a few seconds before deciding to try the radio again. It had been a few hours since they'd last tried to listen for a broadcast. The last one they'd heard had been a whole day ago, but she'd chalked that up to poor reception due to the country roads they were taking in an attempt to stay away from larger cities. She'd seen a sign for Atlanta a few miles back that said they were just less than 100 miles from the large urban area. Radio stations from a big city like that would reach this distance. She was sure of it. She flicked the dial on & scanned through the channels.

Dead air. Static. Dead air. Silence.** Nothing.**

Her heart sank. In the five days they had been on southbound back country roads, things had definitely gotten worse. She'd known it in the back of her mind the whole time. She was just trying to push it from her head. She flicked the dial back off with a heavy sigh and pressed her head to the steering wheel.

She heard a rustling in the bushes and assumed that Meredith had finished up and was ready to go. "Took you long enough!" she shouted. She waited a few seconds for her sister to reach the Jeep. She craned her neck, looking to her blind spot to see what was taking so long, only to see an empty space next to the car.

"Mer?" she called. No answer. An unsettling feeling washed over her. Instinct led her to draw one of her 9mms from their holster at her chest. She undid her belt buckle and slid out the car door, creeping around the back of the car. The bushes rustled quietly, betraying who or whatever was just behind it. She drew a sharp breath before stepping forward.

Parting the bushes, she looked down a very slight embankment where she discovered two figures. One hovering over the other. The latter of which was making a sick gurgling sound. She screamed. Her pained howl caused the closer figure to look up into her face. Her eyes were met with the face of what had been a young boy, about 9 or 10 years of age. His skin was a grey-green and his eyes were sunken. He rose, making a sick hissing noise, his eviscerated midsection becoming visible. She went to raise her gun, but her shock caused her to fumble it as she backed away. She shrieked again as the walker pulled itself through the growth. She felt a hand clamp down on her shoulder and pull her back.

She jolted awake, taking in a long, ragged breath. Her eyes darted about, searching the dimly lit area for what had grabbed her.

"What's got you so jumpy?" a man's voice drawled in a hushed tone. She turned toward the voice. Daryl stood behind her, crossbow in hand and eyebrows rose in question. She leaned forward, exhaling hard, burying her face in her hands and roughly rubbed them across her face. She shook her head as if to say, "Nothing" and then looked back up at him.

He nodded to her holster and pack on the floor. "Comin'?"

"Yeah." she replied as she pressed her feet back into her boots. "Gimme a second."

Wordlessly, he exited the RV. She sat for a short moment to compose herself and turned to look out the windshield. It was just before dawn and the sky was a warm coral color, casting a slight illumination on everything. Outside, Daryl stood, back to a tree, thumbing the sharp tip of one of his crossbow bolts. She watched him as she pulled her holster on over her shoulders. He toed and kicked the dirt at his foot like a child. She moved to the RV's bathroom to relieve herself before finally grabbing her pack and exiting the motorhome.

Daryl was now directly in front of the door. She gasped again.

"What the hell, lady! You tweeked or somethin'? If you're gunna be jumpin' six feet in the air every couple seconds, you ain't comin' out with me." he warned, keeping his voice low so as not to wake the camp.

"Well, maybe you should stop sneaking up on me.", she said flatly.

He scoffed, averting his eyes. A second passed before he looked back to her & held out his hand, gesturing for her to take whatever it was he had.

"What's this?" she asked suspiciously.

He shrugged. "Peace offering."

He placed the objects into her open palm then turned to walk towards the tree line. She couldn't see what it was very well because of the early light's dullness, but by the weight and the shape, she'd figured out what they were. Seven or eight small, rounded stones that were perfect shot for her slingshot. She smiled faintly and pocketed them before starting off behind him.


	7. Chapter 7

By midday, they'd zig-zagged their way through about two or three miles of the forest surrounding the old farm. They'd come across a small handful of walkers. Each had been wandering on their own and posed little threat, so they were dispatched easily by the pair of skilled marksmen.

Daryl had come to realize that their hunting styles were very different. Pru, he'd noted, was very opportunistic. Likely, he reckoned, due to the fact that she was a bit younger and less experienced than he was, unfamiliar with the animals in the area, and wasn't very familiar with tracking. He was willing to admit, at least to himself, that it didn't leave her with a disadvantage. They'd only been out a few hours and she'd already filled her pack half way with mourning doves. He on the other hand, had a taste for something a bit larger. He'd been tracking a doe and its fawn for about a mile and he was able to tell that he was getting close. Between a fifty pound fawn and all the small kills Pru had made, they'd be able to feed the whole camp fresh meat for dinner that evening and breakfast in the morning. He grinned slightly at the prospect.

She didn't annoy him by trying to make small talk, either. Any time he'd gone out searching for Sophia or won runs with any of the other members of the group, like Andrea or even Rick, they'd talk his ear off. The silence was somewhere closer to companionable rather than awkward. He felt no obligation to talk, and she made no efforts, which was wonderful, especially because silence and stealth were key elements in what they were doing. If and when they wanted to communicate, they'd snap their fingers or use hand signals.

He stooped suddenly, causing Pru to bump into his back slightly. She silently apologized by patting him roughly on the shoulder. He didn't know what to make of the contact, so he brushed it off. Turning around to motion to what he was crouched over. A small pile of fresh deer scat lay in the dirt directly in front of him. He hovered his palm over it. He could feel the animal's residual heat given off by its leavings. They were practically on top of these deer now.

He held up his hand to her as if to say, "Careful. They're close. Keep an eye out."

He said the words in his mind, hoping that she was able to read him well enough to pick up what he meant. She nodded. Satisfied that she wasn't going to muck up the situation, he rose to his feet again and crept forward, silent and steady as possible, in the direction of the animals' trail with the young woman in tow.

After just five more minutes of stalking their prey, they came upon the animals, who'd come to rest in a small opening between three trees. They were feeding placidly on the tiny shoots growing up through the debris on the rich forest floor. They were pretty much cornered and completely off guard. The fawn, as Daryl had suspected by the size of its tracks and the stride, was about four and a half months old. Born mid springtime. Just about the time before the world went to hell. It was just about old enough to be weaned off its mother. Its hide no longer dappled with white, but now solid tawny buckskin in color. The hunter's adrenaline filled his veins and his mouth watered at the thought of a filling meal.

The pair moved cautiously to squat behind a large snarl of fallen branches. Daryl moved to line up the shot as the younger deer wandered directly in its mother's path. Now, in full view, the deer was already as good as shot, gutted, and in roasting over the fire pit. Slowly pulling the trigger, he let one of his new aluminum bolts fly. It zipped through the brush and found its intended mark, just behind the yearling's left shoulder. They spooked at first, both running off away from whatever their threat was. Within a few strides, however, the younger of the two fell behind its mother, crashing violently to the soft ground. A direct hit to its heart sealed its fate quickly, and by the time the two hunters made their way over to the animal, it was twitching weakly as it bled to death inside itself. Daryl came to stand over the carcass.

Pru walked up behind him, dipping to snatch up a long, thin stick. She tapped at the animal's eye to make sure it was drained of life. Satisfied, he leaned down, yanking the arrow from its spot of rest, and inspected it for damage.

"Nice shot." she commented.

"Yep," he returned as he cleaned off the bolt and reloaded his weapon. "I'mma dress 'im now. Less weight to drag back. You keep watch. Don't want the scent to bring anything down on us when I'm busy."

She agreed, silently, stowing her slingshot in favor of her gun. He knelt, turning the animal's body onto its back so he could begin to clean it. His skilled hands manipulated the buck knife to cut through the hide and then down through the flesh. A second later, he heard a synthetic rustling just behind his head. Pru stood there, hand out with a plastic bag wadded up in her fist.

"For the heart and the liver, when you get to it. No sense in leaving the two best parts behind." she offered.

He nodded to her to drop it down by his side & then turned back to his task. As he worked in silence, his thoughts played back the events of the morning. Unable to contain his curiosity anymore, he found himself asking, "So where'd you learn from?"

Her eyes shifted through the dense brush as she watched for signs of movement from anything threatening. Her brow furrowed at the unexpected conversational tone of his askance. "Learn what?" she replied.

"You know. All this." he struggled, "The slingshot? Guns?"

"Oh. Right." she said in realization, "My Aunt & Uncle. On my mom's side. Started out as just going up to their place for horseback riding lessons. The more time I spent up there in the woods, the more I realized I wasn't made for the city like the rest of my family. I would beg my Uncle to bring me out and teach me things when I was up there. I think he was a little annoyed, at first, to have a little girl tagging along with him, but then he just began to offer to take me out."

"You ain't from here, though." he half-questioned.

"The hunting's just as good back home in Jersey." she countered.

His blood-soaked hands emerged from the deer's carcass. He was holding a palm-sized lump. He discarded it with some force off to his left, behind him. It hit a tree & burst, spraying urine everywhere.

"You missed." Pru said, deadpan.

"Wasn't aimin'. Woulda known if I was." He joked.

He reached for the plastic bag, opening it up and placing the nutrient rich liver inside. He then rolled the dead animal onto its side, its entrails pooling on the dark earth at Daryl's feet. He paused, wiping the moisture from his brow, only to replace it with a smear of blood.

"So you a carpetbagger, or what?" he questioned as he continued to clean his kill.

She chuckled at his use of the antique insult. "My father was. He moved to Florida when he retired."

"So you just got in the car and tried to drive to Florida? Like it would have been any better?" he asked. His tone was soaked in disappointment, as if he'd expected better from her.

"If it were up to me, I would have completely forgotten about the miserable bastard, but my sister just…She cried for a whole day. Begging me to go with her to find him…Then she threatened to leave. "

He drew back from being elbow deep in the dead deer's chest. In his hand he held a mound of muscle. The animal's heart was small and almost purple in color. The small rays of sunshine that managed to break their way through the dense foliage above them, causing the slick blood that coated the organ to glisten. He admired it for a moment before stuffing it in the plastic bag with the liver and handing it over to Pru.

"I'd have let her go off on her own if she wanted to so bad." He criticized absently. As he rose to his feet he sheathed his knife, slung his crossbow over his back, and hoisted his prize onto his shoulders. He winced a bit, the flesh on his left side still tight and healing from the arrow wound he'd acquired while searching for Sophia a few weeks back.

"Yeah, well. I wasn't about to abandon my sister." She said as she stuffed the bloodied plastic bag into her pack with the birds. "What's wrong?" she asked seeing the quick flash of pain cross his face.

"M'fine." He grunted. He set his jaw at the feeling of the sharp pain in his side and began to trudge forward, carcass resting against his neck.

She smiled. "You can drop your 'Good Ol' Boy schtick for a min-"

As he passed Pru, he felt a tug on the left side of his shirt and heard her gasp. He spun around, dropping the deer, and slapped at her hand. "Don't touch me!" he yelled reflexively.

She moved forward in an attempt to pull the back of his shirt again. "You're bleeding through your fucking shirt, man! Let me look at it!"

He caught her wrist and held it away from his side. His grip was like a vice. They locked eyes like they had the morning before, only this time, he knew he was off his game because of the situation. He couldn't be sure, but after a moment, he almost saw realization in her eyes.

"Let me go, ya filthy, inbred asshole!" she yelled, clawing at his hand. Finally, she managed to yank herself free. He looked her in the eye again before casting his gaze to the ground. She rubbed at her sore wrist while staring daggers into him for a short moment before running off into the woods, leaving Daryl alone to carry the deer.

He stood in that same spot, silently cursing himself. Not because he was upset she'd left, but because now she, too, had probably seen his back. People were nosey. He didn't want them sniffing around him anymore than they already did.

He looked down at the deer, hoping in the back of his head that, after all that work the damn thing better not have dirt in it. He flipped it. It was untainted, thankfully. He brought his hand up to his left flank & rubbed at it, absently. He could feel the tightness in his side & the slight stickiness of blood as it leaked onto his shirt. He dipped once more to retrieve his game & hefted it up again.

"This hike should be interestin'." He mused sarcastically to the empty forest. He'd have to be extra alert on his trek back. There was no one to watch his back as he carried the kill now. He cursed under his breath once more before starting back to the farm.


	8. Chapter 8

**This is actually two chapters jammed together...Because doing things(AKA editing & posting) is hard, haha. It's a long read, guys, so hang tight! ALSO! There's another scene from the show in here with Daryl & Carol. More sad, in here, too. Let me know how you like this BEHEMOTH CHAPTER! (Not trying to steal or take credit for any characters, scenes, or plots from Walking Dead. Don't own anything but the OCs!) Have fun, kids.**

She'd spent a few more hours off by herself in the woods. She came upon a small creek. It looked like a good place to sit down and rest for a bit. She sat down facing away from the creek, her back flat against a tree. She figured she'd be able to hear a walker splash clumsily through the water, giving her a chance to defend herself.

As she relaxed, she thought for a bit about what had just happened between her and her hunting partner. She rubbed at her wrist where he'd caught it, remembering his grip holding her stationary like manacles. She was incensed for a moment.

…But then she thought back to the small glimpse of what had been under his shirt…Those lines etched into his skin. She saw the telltale look of embarrassment and uncertainty he masked so well with his anger. Anyone else probably would have missed it, especially if they weren't looking. But it had been there. She was sure of it.

She sighed. Being at war with one's self is not easy. She wanted so badly to be angry with him for lashing out at her in the manner he had, but she couldn't be. Not wholly. She knew now what he was hiding, albeit, poorly. It had only taken her two days to fit the pieces together; he'd been abused by someone at some point in his life. Though, she was at an advantage. It may not have been the same as what her father had done to her, but she knew that look. She saw how he pulled the fight and anger from every inch of his body and the way he tensed when she'd tried to take a second glance.

…Fuck. She truly hoped he hadn't experienced what she'd been through. Her mind flashed back to her father. To his hands.

She wretched reflexively. Nothing came up. She breathed, trying to steady her shaking hands. Closing her eyes, she forced the thoughts from her head and stood so she could start making her way back.

It took her another two hours to get back to the farm. She could hear arguing as she approached, so she picked up her pace. She emerged from the trees to see a group dispersing. She broke into a jog, her full pack jostling back and forth, weighing heavily around her neck. She could see Shane staring hard at Rick, Lori backing her husband. Daryl was stalking off in the other direction dragging his kill behind him as he went. Shane began to storm away from his former partner with his eyes cast downward. He was headed directly in her direction.

"Rick!" she called. "What's going-"

Shane looked up. The look in his eyes could burn a hole right through her.

"Where the fuck did you get off to?" he demanded. She stopped dead in her tracks, taken aback by his tone.

"Excuse me?" she replied, her voice seeping with disgust for how she'd just been addressed. Rick began to approach behind him.

"Where you been, girl? We had this whole fucking camp lookin' for you since this morning. You can't just run off without telling anyone." He lectured angrily.

She saw Daryl pause off in the field beyond the house, hearing the commotion, out of the corner of her eye. She wondered briefly why Daryl hadn't told any of them yet.

Shane snapped his fingers at her, noticing that her mind and eyes had wandered. "HELLO! I'm talking to you!"

Her face twisted into a glare. "Don't fucking talk to me like a child. And you don't need to know where and when I come and go. I do just fine by myself." With that, she took the full leather pack from around her neck and slung it at Shane, hitting him in the face.

"Enjoy the meal, Sasquatch." She said unapologetically. She stalked off towards the RV. She was gone by the time Rick had reached Shane's side. He looked at the leather satchel Shane held in his hands with the birds, a young rabbit, and the plastic bag, sticky with blood, that had toppled out upon impacting. He looked back up to meet Shane's eyes. Shane slammed the pack into Rick's chest before leaving, himself. "There's another problem you dragged back with you."

She pulled the door to the RV open and stepped inside. Andrea was seated at the small dining table just to her left. The blonde looked up, surprised to see her. "Hey! Do they know you're back? We'd been looking for you."

"So I've been told. I went hunting this morning. With Daryl. I didn't know it would be such a huge problem." Pru sighed.

"Wait. He let you go hunting with him?" Andrea asked. She looked completely flabbergasted.

"…Why's that weird?" Pru still didn't get it. How he was. Especially with new people. She sat down roughly, flinching a bit in response to the pain of sitting her weight on her slingshot, which was still in her pocket. She reached for it, tossing it on the table. Andrea regarded it for a second, thinking of how to respond.

"I don't know," she laughed quietly at herself, not able to really pin an answer down. "…It's Daryl. He just…Likes to be on his own, I guess."

Pru picked at her cuticles, absently. "Well. So do I, generally." Andrea nodded. Silence found them both for a brief moment before Pru thought to ask her next question. "What was up before? You know. Everyone was yelling…What happened? I'd missed it."

Andrea chewed on the inside of her cheek. Pru could tell it wasn't exactly something she'd like to rehash, but she deserved to know. Andrea sighed.

"Rick, Glenn, and Herschel were attacked by another group or survivors last night. In town. They fought them all of and were about to leave, from what I understand it, but Rick decided to help one of them. He messed up his leg pretty badly…Anyway. They brought him back here. He's in the barn now. They can't agree what to do with him."

Pru swallowed hard, her face going white. She stood. Her expression uneasy. "Wh- Where did you say he's at?"

Andrea looked puzzled again. "The kid's in the barn…What's wrong?" Pru groped at her holster as if to assure herself that her guns were on her. Her eyes were wide, like she'd seen a ghost. She rushed from the RV, taking her gun from the holster. Andrea, only half realizing what was going on, charged after her. As she exited the RV, running swiftly after Pru, her eyes found Rick and T-Dog sitting on the porch.

"RICK!" she yelled.

Both men looked up to the running women and charged off the steps. "Shit!" T-Dog exclaimed.

"Hey! Pru!" Rick called. The three pursued the woman up to the barn. When Pru reached the barn's old, weathered door, she clawed at the lock frantically trying to open it.

"Pru, stop! What are you doing?" Andrea said.

"I need to see him! I need to make sure!" the frantic woman crowed.

"Wha…?" Andrea mouthed to Rick as he approached.

"Pru, what's goin' on?" Rick asked, now out of breath from giving chase.

"Let me in there. I need to see." She demanded weakly. She doubled over, hands steadied on her knees, also out of breath from her mad dash.

"I can't do that. Not until you tell me what this is about." Rick bargained.

Her knees buckled causing her backside hit the ground hard. T-Dog rushed to her side to help her up. She waved him off, but he stayed beside her. She looked up to Rick's face, pleadingly. After a moment, she began to speak. "There were two of them…"

* * *

The sun had set over the farm, plunging the rural landscape into night's darkness. After the argument that had involved every member of the camp, Daryl had made his way back to his tent, packed it up and moved it, along with what meager belongings he had, out by the old stone chimney that toed the edge of Herschel's property. The one he had started to frequent in times of unrest among the camp.

He'd had enough of the bullshit and the fighting. Rick, Glenn, and Herschel should have left that son of a bitch there to die after his group shot at them. What a stupid thing to have done. He didn't, however, agree with Shane's asinine way of dealing with things…Challenging Rick's word and decisions at every point in the road. Rick was the group's leader, now. Sure, everyone had a say, but ultimately, what Rick said went as law. There was more order that way.

After settling in to his new surroundings, far out from the original camp, he hung the day's kill to skin and butcher before it spoiled. He'd so looked forward to that meal the entire day while tracking it, killing it, cleaning it, and carrying it back. Now, his mouth tasted sour. He'd lost his appetite because of all the garbage that had happened. After skinning the animal's carcass, he cut it up and dragged the fresh meat back to the original camp. He wasn't going to eat it and he hated the other idiots in the group at the moment, but there was no sense in letting all that hard work go to waste. He tossed the heap of butchered venison he'd wrapped in a tarp at Lori and Carol's feet unceremoniously.

They eyed him, worried for a second. He rolled his eyes and wordlessly skulked off again, leaving the area in favor of his new camp. He sat, alone, sharpening and cleaning his knife as he'd used it to butcher the fawn. It was a necessary weapon as well as a tool. Keeping it sharp was imperative, especially nowadays.

A few hours passed silently. His mind eventually wandered from the events of the evening which had enraged him, back to the original problem that had come up while he'd still been out in the woods; Pru and his outburst. He scolded himself for what he recognized now as an overreaction. She had only been trying to help. He would have done the same thing had it been anyone else. No one's any good to themselves or others out there if you're injured or bleeding. He huffed at his disappointment in himself and spat as he sheathed his knife.

"Shit." Admitting things like this to himself wasn't easy. He found himself slowly growing even angrier about the day's events.

Not a second after did he hear quiet footsteps approaching his camp site. He could tell they were alive, whoever it was. The steps too steady and quick to be a walker's shambling gait. Silently, he rose to his feet, seeing Carol standing just beyond his tent. She was staring, fixated on the string of walker ears he'd taken as a prize the day he'd injured himself while out searching for Sophia. He'd tried to distance himself from her since they'd found out Carol's little girl was dead. He'd failed her by not finding Sophia, and she'd failed him by not dealing with her death. He'd written her off.

His temper swelled as he watched her snooping around. He thought by moving his camp out here, they'd get it. Maybe now they'd leave him be. Apparently he'd thought wrong. He'd felt awful enough about how the day had gone. Dealing with Carol was the last thing he wanted to do right before bed. He edged closer, her back to him.

"What're you doin'?" he asked suspiciously. She spun around quickly, not hearing him approaching her back. She quickly composed herself and fixed him with wary, questioning gaze.

"Keepin' an eye on you." She retorted. He circled her, trying to assess her real reason for coming all the way out here.

"Ain't you a peach." He responded sarcastically.

She fired back at him, her tone serious, almost as if she was admonishing him. "I'm not gunna let you pull away. You've earned your place." Daryl responded immediately with the most venomous thing he could think of saying in an attempt to drive her off.

"If you spent half yer' time mindin' your daughter's business instead of stickin' yer nose in everybody else's, she'd still be alive!" He inched forward, body language almost as aggressive as his verbal assault.

Shrewdly, she looked him up and down. It was almost as if she could see right through to what he was really thinking. "Go ahead." She said softly.

Her words threw him a bit. He faltered, narrowing his eyes at her. "Go 'head an' what?"

No response came verbally. Instead, she bored into him with her steady, discerning gaze.

He waved her off. "Man! Just go! I don't want you here!" She didn't take her eyes off him, though she could see his frustration building.

He searched his mind frantically for something to fire back at her with, feeling he was quickly losing ground to her. He began pacing back and forth like a tiger in a cage. He approached her again, pointing an accusing finger at her chest. "You're a real piece'a work, lady. What? You gunna make this 'bout my Daddy or some crap like that? You dunno jack."

He raised his hand, pointing his finger in her face now, as the anger in his voice became more audible.

"…You're afraid. You're afraid 'cuz yer' all alone! Got no husband…No daughter. Dunno what to do with yer'self. You ain't my problem! Sophia wasn't MINE!"

She stood strong, the slightest hint of a knowing smile upon her face as he berated her. He clenched his fists, angry that he couldn't fend her off and lunged forward, threateningly one last time. "All you hadda do was keep an eye on 'er!" he shouted spitefully.

He recognized her movement. She'd braced herself to take a hit. His heart sunk immediately and all his fight went with it. He'd made himself sick to his stomach, knowing he'd just caused Carol to flinch like that. The poor woman had been through enough. The last thing she needed was to be afraid of him beating on her like her husband had done. He backed down, slowly, trying to maintain his hard look as much as possible. Instead, he looked more like a wounded animal.

Carol steadied herself and inhaled deeply, letting him know she wasn't shaken by the prospect of a sharp blow to the face…Or maybe not. Perhaps she was just trying to let him know she wasn't going to let this be how she left it. He couldn't tell. They both stood staring for a bit until he dropped his head and retreated to his tent, tail between his legs.

He woke to the sound of Rick's voice calling for him. Restless sleep had left him feeling sore and drained. From the amount of light shining into his tiny tent, he could tell that he'd slept uncharacteristically late, due to the fact that he'd been up all night, warring with himself about everything. He responded to Rick's calls with a growl. "What?"

He unzipped the tent and peered out, his eyes momentarily stung by the sun's intense midday glow.

"Didn't expect you'd still be asleep this time'a day." Rick voiced.

Daryl rubbed his pained eyes and found the former cop's figure standing next to the tent. "Neither did I." he replied as he pulled himself from the tent and stood. "What d'you want?"

Rick inspected his feet for a moment before answering the young hunter's question. "We, uh. We may have an issue with the boy. The one who's in the barn."

Daryl scratched at his neck absently, taking in the day. "Yeah? I thought ya'll were just gunna waste some'a our supplies fixin' the asshole up 'n' let 'em go. Catch 'n release."

Rick sighed, ignoring his snide remark. "That may change now…" Daryl turned to meet Rick's gaze. He continued, "I need you to come to the barn with me, in case…In case this goes badly. I need your help."

Daryl scoffed, crouching to reach back into the tent for his crossbow. "With what? Where's your buddy, Shane?"

"I don't want Shane knowing about this." Rick's tone was deadly serious. It gave Daryl pause. He turned to meet Rick's gaze again.

"What's this about, man?"

"This kid…Some men, a while back…He may be one of the guys who tried to rape Pru." Daryl grimaced. He hadn't heard that correctly.

"What?" he asked dumbly.

"Remember when we first ran into her? She'd said there were two guys she'd holed up with?... A few weeks back, they tried to force themselves on her. In the gun shop…She killed one. Wounded the other. He ran off, back to a group they'd originally come from, she'd assumed. That's why she was so suspicious of us, at first."

Daryl's mind wandered back to that day in the gun store. The blood in the doorway. The body that lay in the middle of the floor. It had been facedown, no visible shot to the head. It hadn't been chewed up. He swallowed hard as a myriad of emotions filled his head.

"She wants to see if it's him. I need you there in case…Well, in case it is him. I don't want someone like that around her again. Around the other women…'Round my boy."

Daryl swallowed thickly again and slung the crossbow over his shoulder. "We doing this now?" he murmured. He didn't wait for an answer and began walking towards the farmhouse and the barn. Rick turned to follow him.

When he saw Pru, she was sitting alone on the picnic table, staring off at nothing. A cool breeze kicked up and tossed her tangled, dark hair. She looked as if she'd been crying. Not hard, though, only weeping softly. Her eyes were just barely rimmed with red. She picked her head up just in time to see them coming. She grabbed the edge of her teal tank top and dabbed at her face with it.

She looked back up when the men reached her and rose to her feet, nodding to them. Rick began to walk ahead of them. Daryl looked at her for a moment before following him. He couldn't quite make out what she was saying to him with her eyes set like that. It wasn't anger, though it looked like it. Maybe it was shame. He was disgusted with himself for a moment, and he couldn't understand why. He turned his eyes to the ground to break their brief connection before following Rick.

The trio walked the distance to the barn in silence, Rick and Daryl keeping an eye out for anyone who wasn't aware of the current situation. The group's leader, Rick, already warned T-Dog and Andrea about telling anyone before they knew for sure. Especially Shane. If his former partner knew that there was even a slight possibility that he had been one of the men who attacked Pru, there'd be no stopping him from acting out in a violent and impulsive way. It would be the barn situation all over again. Rick wasn't willing to risk the life of a man who was potentially innocent. Keeping this from Shane and the others was for the best. Daryl understood and respected that.

When they reached the door of the barn, Andrea was standing guard. Rick paused, asking Pru if she was sure she'd wanted to do this. The night before, after she'd told them the story, he'd decided it was best if she cooled off a bit before trying to identify him. He knew from his experience in law enforcement that if victims wanted someone to look like a suspect badly enough, often, they'd impulsively identify the wrong person. Not because they wanted to place blame, but because of their emotional state. Her gathering herself would be best for all involved.

Pru nodded to Rick. "Let's go." It sounded almost rude coming from her, but it was understandable. She was upset. Stressed. Rick opened the barn door, sliding in first. Daryl and Pru followed.

When Daryl saw him, he was chained to the wall, sitting among the hay that lined the floor. His leg was bandaged and elevated. He was also gagged with a bandana, another tied across his eyes. He looked young, maybe nineteen. Daryl decided that "pathetic" best described him, overall.

Rick crouched beside their prisoner, removing his blindfold. The young man perked up and struggled against his restraints, slightly, obviously trying not to jostle his injured leg. His eyes were pleading.

"Pru?" Rick called her attention downwards. The kid looked confused.

She turned her visage to the young man on the floor and looked him over for a moment. She inhaled deeply.

"No." she said simply.

"You sure?" Rick asked. She just nodded, silently. All of a sudden, the angry, haunted look in her eyes dissipated.

"Yeah. That's not him."

She walked over, kneeling down in front of the prisoner. She smiled and brushed some hair from the kid's face, as if she was trying to comfort him. Daryl grimaced, confused by her sudden mood change. He glanced over at Rick questioningly. Rick had no idea what she was doing, either. He shrugged.

"You had a group? Besides the other guys…who died?" She asked sweetly. She didn't remove the gag from his mouth, probably figuring a nod would suffice as an answer.

He nodded, a muffled explanation coming from beneath the gag. She shushed him. "Oh, was it a big group? A lot of you?"

He nodded again.

"Yeah…You know a guy named Deacon, by any chance? Big guy? Thick beard? Maybe a bit older than you...Kinda Rednecky?...Like my buddy over here?" she joked.

"Hey!" Daryl snapped defensively. What the hell was that about? He didn't need to be here. He'd felt bad for how he'd acted yesterday. Worse just a second ago. But now?

The young captive nodded, enthusiastically, smiling under his gag. Pru's smile broadened for a moment before it began to fade, her expression become morose.

She snorted sharply, gathering phlegm in her throat and sharply expelled it into the young man's face. The kid moaned in disgust and struggled.

"Whoa, whoa!" Daryl shouted. His exclamation betrayed slight amusement in her action. He and Rick moved forward to intervene before she did anything else to the kid. He tried to scoop the woman up from behind by her waist, but she pushed him off of her, stumbling a bit.

"He fucking knows the bastard." She said as she walked out of the barn. Daryl looked to Rick, then turned to the younger man and glared.

"What a fuckin' mess." He complained to no one. He turned on his heel and exited after Pru.


	9. Chapter 9

**Pru gets a job! Daryl plays with a stick! Excitement abound!...But no, really. We get the full story on the guys who'd been dumb enough to fuck with Pru. A nice, calm, chapter where they both find out a bit more about each other. I DON'T OWN ANYTHING HAVING TO DO WITH TWD. KTHXBAI.**

* * *

The smell of a stable had been one of her favorite scents for as long as she could remember. It was relaxing. The hay, the horses, the oats, the leather; every part mixing together to make such a comforting and nostalgia inspiring aroma.

She hefted the heavy Western saddle onto the animal's back and fastened the flank cinch around the horse's belly. "Okay, let's go, you." She said to the horse and began leading her out of the stable before mounting. After what happened in the barn a few hours before, she'd talked to Rick about what was to become of their prisoner. Since he, himself, was not the man who'd done it, they both agreed that killing him outright wouldn't be right. They'd stick to Rick's original plan, though it seemed even more risky now than before. If this kid somehow managed to survive being dumped out on his own with only a few days' worth of supplies and no weapons, then made it back to his group, they'd come to the farm. She knew they would. Deacon would, if he'd lived.

…Then again. Those odds were absolutely astronomical, she'd figured. He was injured, on top of everything else. Either way, she just wasn't willing to execute some kid for no reason. She and Rick were on the same page.

During the talk, the topic of the farm's security also came up. Whether the threat came from walkers or the new danger, other survivors, no one wanted anyone showing up on their doorstep unexpectedly anymore. Rick, with Herschel's permission to use the horses, suggested to her she take up a patrol of the property line. The horse's swiftness would provide both safety and quick transport in case of trouble, and her ability to ride and shoot accurately made it an obvious niche suited to her.

She jogged the horse down through the field behind the house against the tree line, peering into the woods as she went by. She'd gone most of the way around the property's lengthy perimeter when she began to approach the area of the property that Daryl had basically laid claim to. As she closed the gap between her and his camp, she saw him busying himself with digging a small pit, likely for a meager fire. She said noting as she came upon him, but slowed the horse to a halt. He looked up, setting his jaw and nodded a small greeting to her.

"You ain't plannin' on runnin' off with that horse and goin' to look for that cocksucker, are ya?" he asked.

"Do I look stupid?" She snapped.

He cocked an eyebrow at her, tempted to give her the obviously smart-ass counter that she'd baited him with.

She narrowed her eyes at him, realizing she'd set herself up for that. "I thought we called a truce?" she countered.

"What? I ain't said nothin'." He barked, turning his attention back to the stick he was using to clear dirt from the hole. She sighed heavily, frustrated by the fact that they'd apparently regressed back to this point. Seeing there was no reason try to continue the conversation, she gathered up the reigns again and nudged at the horse's flanks with her heels, urging it to move forward. She heard him clear his throat as she slowly rode away.

"Sorry…'bout yesterday." He said. The apology was quiet, as if there was someone else in earshot. She stopped the horse, bewildered at the man's voicing, and turned back to look over her shoulder at him. He looked sheepish. Not wanting to prod him about the incident, she mulled over what she wanted to say before opening her mouth in response. "It's…Whatever. Shoulda let you be when you said, huh?"

He nodded. They both fell silent for a moment, neither of them ever much in the way of making conversation. She could feel that he wanted to say more. It was almost as if he wanted to explain his actions, but he hesitated. She'd gotten the briefest of glimpses of the scars that covered his lower back yesterday and wondered if they'd gone the length of it, as well as if that was what he was currently trying to explain. They were no doubt, at least part of the reason he reacted the way he had. She decided not to push, opting to no longer let him struggle in his search for words.

"Thank you." She said suddenly. His brow furrowed and he cocked his head, not understanding.

"Huh?" he responded dumbly.

"For this morning. Being there, I guess. Idunno." Her voice fell, feeling stupid for saying it now.

He shrugged and pursed his lips. "Rick asked me to go with 'im."

She scoffed and looked off over the field absently, able to take in more of the view from her vantage point upon the horse's back. "Coulda said 'no', though."

He shrugged again, turning around and walking back to the stone chimney to set himself down, stick still in hand. He tapped it on the ground for a second before speaking quickly. "Rick said you knew 'em. The guys that did it…Tried to."

Abashedly, she answered. "Uh, yeah. Kinda…They found me when my sister died. Kinda saved me, actually." She paused to laugh, seeing the irony of what happened. "Fucked up."

She saw him quirk an eyebrow, questioning. Whether it was in response to her finding humor in the unfortunate situation or if it was to urge her to explain further she didn't know, so she continued. She took a deep breath, realizing the conversation had just become a bit more in depth than either one of them had probably intended, and climbed down, out of the saddle. She led the horse to where Daryl sat down, parking herself on the dry, dusty earth just in front of him.

"We'd pulled over…Couple miles from here, maybe. She got out to use the bathroom." She began, "When she didn't come back right away, I knew something was up. So I got out the car, and when I looked into the bushes…"

Her breath caught. Eyes welling up with tears, she pressed on. "She tripped or something, I guess. Smacked her head when she went down. I dunno…A walker just happened to be right fucking there, too. So when I looked, it was already over her, rippin' her apart…I screamed, ya know? Freaked out. So the thing came at me. I couldn't shoot. I guess I was in shock, or something…I just started backing up. Fell backwards. It kept comin'. Then someone grabbed me from behind…It was Deacon. The other guy, Bill, shot the thing."

She looked up from the spot in the grass she'd been staring at to his face. His expression was intent but otherwise undecipherable. She shrugged. "Their car broke down up the road from where I'd stopped, so they were gunna take mine until they heard me freakin' out…We drove into town, cuz that was the whole reason they'd been out in the first place. Right? Scavengin'. Anyway, we were there, like, not five minutes when we got overrun and had to hide out in that auto shop I ended up stayin' in. We stayed until morning, when shit calmed down…Walked over to a few shops to see if we could find anything useful before we left…Gun shop was our last stop, then we were gunna leave…"

He ran his filthy hand over his mouth before speaking. "…So what? They just jump ya'?"

She nodded. "Pretty much. Got my guns away from me. Then, I guess, they were gunna take turns? Deacon was keepin' lookout in the doorway. Bill had me on the floor. I went catatonic or something for a minute…And then I looked over and there was a ballpoint pen on the floor next to me. I got my arm away. I wasn't gunna let that shit happen again…Jammed it in his fucking ear and got his gun…I missed the first time."

"Nerves." Daryl offered, simply. She nodded, half smiling and wiping at her face.

"Well, I didn't _miss_. I hit him. Twice. One in chest, one in the arm…He just ran off. Fucking pussy…Idunno if he lived, made it back to his camp, or bled out…Got eaten…I never found his body and I never saw him walking…And that's it. That's what happened." She shrugged again punctuating the end of her story.

The man rubbed his hands on his pants. "He's dead," were his only words offered as consolation. His steady delivery was almost completely assuring, as if because he'd said it, it became so.

She laughed sharply in response. "Yeah, well. Let's hope so, for his sake. Cuz I'll fucking butcher him."

Her frank morbidity caused him to let his guard down long enough for a quiet laugh to escape him. "Easy, Killer."

She shook her head, taking in his relaxed posture and his laugh. She figured this was as good a time as she'd get to dig a bit into him and his past a bit. She forced her smile to fade slightly, and narrowed her eyes, taking a leap of faith with her next sentence, "I heard about your brother…I'm sorry."

His expression morphed before her eyes, different emotions playing across his rugged features quickly before conceding, "Nothin' to be sorry for. He's still alive…Someplace. Ol' Merle's tougher than a fuckin' cockroach…'Sides, it's probably for the best this way, right now. He don't exactly go 'round tryin'a make friends."

"Well, you neither." She jabbed.

He nodded, chewing his bottom lip and dared her, "Go 'head, jackass…I'll see 'im again. He's 'round here someplace…'Sides, I got his bike. An' his drugs. He'll be wantin' them back."

She laughed. A steady breeze, more common now in the late summer evenings, distracted her momentarily as it shook the branches above them, gently causing the old tree to groan under its own weight. Despite the lighter mood, she'd decided not to press him too much more. Standing, she made a futile attempt at brushing the dust from her rear.

"I'm gunna finish up makin' my rounds, man." She said as she hoisted herself back up onto the sorrel mare. He nodded and stood, going back to his tiny fire pit. A feeling of accomplishment washed over her as she brought Nelly into a trot, continuing on with the task at hand.


	10. Chapter 10

**Pru seems to be bonding with the group, while Daryl is still being reluctant to bond with anyone...Or at least that's what he's trying to convince himself. He gets flustered...And Andrea busts his balls when she realizes what neither Pru or Daryl seem to be aware of or willing to admit to.(I DON'T OWN THE WALKING DEAD OR ITS CHARACTERS, BECAUSE I SUCK). Have fun & let me know what you think! =)**

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Hunger was a great motivator. It was what had driven him to pick up hunting in the first place. In more recent days, it had caused him to do things that, before the current state of things, he may have thought twice about. Raw squirrel meat was an acquired taste and did well, in a pinch, to stave off languor and the gnawing pains of hunger. Tonight, it was motivation to be tolerant of the other members of the group, if even only until he managed to fill his gut.

As the sky grew dark with twilight and cloud cover, he found himself walking up to the farmhouse. Beneath the faint light of the single battery powered camping lantern on the porch, Glenn and Maggie sat exchanging endearments quietly. Daryl felt awkward approaching the two young lovers during such an intimate scene. He cleared his throat to announce himself, in an attempt at being courteous. The young couple looked in the direction the sound came from. Maggie smiled politely, so he nodded to them as he climbed the porch steps. The sounds of levity could be heard as he walked through the dark parlor into the dining room. The whole camp had come inside to eat their meal together and were conversing. A boisterous female laugh easily cut the rest of the talking and chuckling in half just before he rounded the corner.

He entered the room and the laughter quieted a bit as all eyes that were facing him locked on his form. Others facing away turned toward him, noticing someone had walked in. Carol shot him a small, welcoming smile as he strode to the table. They always kept a spot and a full plate for him at their dinners. He didn't understand why, especially since he didn't normally make an effort to show up. Regardless, he was thankful this evening. He passed the smaller table that Glenn, Maggie, Beth, and Jimmy normally sat at and sat down at the far end of the large table next to Dale.

Realizing all eyes were still on him after he'd settled into his seat, he looked around taking in everyone's expressions. They were all a mixture of surprise and welcoming, except for Shane, who'd gone back to shoveling instant potatoes into his mouth.

"Man's gotta eat sometime!" he defended. The annoyance in his voice was audibly forced, however, causing laughter to erupt again from most of the group. Carol rose from the table, and collected the plate they'd prepared. She laid a hand on his shoulder as she leaned to put it in front of him. The contact made him uncomfortable and caused him to shoot her a sidelong glance and shy away from her a bit. He mumbled a thank you to her, before she moved back to her spot, and he immediately began to dig into the full plate.

"So, I can really keep it?" Carl asked excitedly. Daryl looked up from his food, hoping to Hell that the kid hadn't found a dog or something else he'd have to feed and worry about making a ton of noise, attracting all sorts of unwanted attention to their quiet little oasis. He looked up to see the young boy sandwiched between his two parents. In his hands he held a shiny metal frame Daryl recognized as Pru's slingshot. He grimaced.

"Heh. Yeah, Bud. As long as it's cool with Mom and Dad." She smiled at the boy. Rick ruffled his kid's hair and Lori hugged him close to her, mouthing a silent 'thank you' in her direction.

Before he even realized he'd opened his mouth, Daryl was asking, "That a good idea? …What you gunna use anymore?"

He looked around the table. All eyes were back on him, no one used to him putting himself into conversations which didn't directly involve him. He shifted in his seat uneasily, realizing he'd interjected without thinking.

Pru took it in stride, shrugging and pursing her lips. "Sure. Why not? I bet you messed around with more dangerous gear as a kid. Less dangerous times, too. Wouldn't hurt him to know how to hunt for himself, either…Besides, I have another one. That one belonged to Mer…Kinda." She took a swig of liquor from the almost empty pint flask that sat next to her plate. He raised his eyebrows, accepting the answer and turned his face back down to his food.

"I'll teach you how to use it tomorrow afternoon. Before dinner or something, maybe." She said to Carl. He back beamed at her.

"For now, though," Lori began, "You put it away and finish up your meal. No weapons at the dinner table."

Her son rolled his eyes a tiny bit, earning a stern look from his father. The child immediately folded the wrist brace into itself and placed it into his lap. Pru grinned.

"OH!" she said suddenly as she turned to address her fellow hunter, "That reminds me. I have something to show you."

He continued eating, unaware she'd been talking to him. He'd been half starved, so he didn't stop himself from funneling all his attention into getting the much needed sustenance into him. He was also eager to get back to his tent for some shut eye, as it was his intention to wake with the sun for a hunt.

Dale smiled and nudged him gently with his elbow as he poked at his own meal aimlessly. Daryl

turned to him, scowling. His mouth was terribly full as he realized everyone around the table was looking at him expectantly, again.

"Wha?" he mumbled as he wiped at his mouth with his bare arm. She laughed in response to his oblivion.

"I have something to show you."

He scrutinized her smiling face for a second and cleared his throat. "Uhm. Okay?"

"Tomorrow." She said.

"What?" he said internally. He didn't appreciate her vagueness. It made him feel awkward. He was very cut and dry. Deliberate. He didn't understand why she couldn't just tell him right now. He played it off, though, nodding and shifting in his seat again. He looked past Pru to Andrea who was making a poor attempt at hiding a smirk behind her hand. He shot her a glare and she wiped the smile from her mouth just as Pru turned to the woman at her right. Andrea waved her off, pretending as if she was choking a bit.

Pru reached for her flask and took another long pull from it. The conversation, led by Herschel's change in subject, became livelier again. Daryl sat in silence as the other members of the table discussed various things that needed to be taken care of come morning. Daryl sat back, enjoying his meal, not offering up his time for anything. He looked forward to tomorrow morning's hunt and didn't feel like playing Mr. Fixit. After a few more minutes of conversation the group began to disperse, slowly. Lori had told Carl to go wash up for bed, and she, Carol, and Maggie gathered up the dishes and leftovers. Pru went to stand, to offer a hand, but she staggered a bit, giggling. Andrea steadied her, grabbing her arm.

"Whoa there!" the tattooed woman giggled, exaggerating her stumble by waving her other arm.

"You good?" Shane asked absently.

"Oh yeah," she snorted, "Real good." Shane rolled his eyes. Lori took her plate from her and made an attempt at getting her to either sit back down or go out to the RV to get to bed. He watched as Pru shrugged and stumbled for the door.

She was already half way to the door, back to them, when Dale began to get up to usher her safely to the old motorhome.

"SID'DOWN DALE! I got it!" she yelled behind her without even glancing. She waved one of her guns over her head. Dale, firmly put in his place by her clairvoyance, sat back down looking exasperated.

"AT LEAST TAKE THE BED TONIGHT!" he shouted back. Daryl turned, watching her wobble her way through the threshold. Without looking, she waved the gun over her head again, defiantly and exited the house. After hearing the door slam behind her, the group left at the table, sans the hunter, began to snicker.

"She's a pistol." Rick laughed.

Daryl looked to the door and figured he'd make his getaway while they were distracted, so he could make sure her drunk ass would make it to the RV unscathed. He half lied to himself, too, also reasoning that he wouldn't get roped into chores tomorrow if he'd made a hasty retreat. He reached for his crossbow and made his way out the door and onto the porch. It was completely dark now and it had started to drizzle, bringing a damp chill to the evening air that was as unfamiliar to the exposed skin on his bare arms as it was familiar.

His eyes strained to find Pru's form among the darkness. When he located her, he watched as she tottered along for a second before he heard the door swing open behind him. He turned to see Andrea stroll out, the corner of her lip quirked upwards and arms crossed over her chest. He grunted.

"Rainin' now." He drawled. She came to stand next to him and she stared out towards where he'd been staring, knowing smile still on her face.

"What're you so happy about?" he asked curtly. She shook her head.

"She'll be okay."

"I ain't concerned." He lied and turned his gaze off to the opposite edge of the field to look at nothing.

"Yeah. You lie for shit." She breezed. He turned to her glaring. "Oh, calm down," she chided softly, "I'm messing with you."

He grunted again, rolling his eyes, and made his way down the porch steps. He caught himself looking towards the RV again when he finally heard its door snap shut.

"Daryl." Andrea called to him from the porch, lowering her voice so the other survivors inside the house wouldn't hear. He stopped, turning back to look at the blonde, squinting his eyes a bit more than his usual expression to shield them from the tiny drops of rain.

"…She's gunna 'show you something' tomorrow." She teased, her smile puckish.

"Fuck off, lady!" he barked and stormed off.

He made it back to his tent in record time and kicked off his wet boots so as not to track mud into his nest of blankets and clothes. He heaved a heavy sigh as he sat down. This is what he got for going up to the house, dammit. He lay down and stared at his tent's ceiling. "What the fuck."


	11. Chapter 11

Uhm. Okay. So, first I'd like to apologize to the two(Count 'em! TWO!) people who are actually reading this, haha. It has been a while since I updated. AND NOW I'M GOING TO GIVE YOU A REALLY SHITTY BORING CHAPTER! Hooray! I'm going to be completely honest, I'm not to thrilled with this. Not much happens, as far as action goes, but we see some playful banter between Pru & Daryl...So that has the potential to be fun. BUT IT AIN'T, LOL. This chapter is literally filler and just something so you don't lose interest in the story(Or maybe you will after reading this shit chapter, who knows!)

Anywho. I hope you enjoy, regardless! I'd love to know where you guys want from this story and think about it so far! Please PLEASE PLEASE LET ME KNOW! =)

OOO! Also, the modification Pru makes in this chapter. Totally legit. SON, I AM RESEARCH THE SHIT OUT OF SLINGSHOTS NAO. Youtube the shit out of it. It is badass as hell to see someone take down large game that way.

*****HOLY CRAP I DON'T OWN THE WALKING DEAD OR ANY OF THE CHARACTERS OR THE SCRIPT OR THE CONCEPT OR ANYTHING REMOTELY COOL OR FUN.

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She stirred at the feeling of something gently prodding her thigh. She wasn't really awake. More like she was_ aware _of the poking sensation. It gradually became more insistent. She swatted at whatever it was and allowed her head to loll to the side to lean against her shoulder.  
"Cut it…" she moaned drowsily. It wasn't directed at anything except the feeling, itself.

_WHACK._

It wasn't hard, but it was firm enough to snap her out of her booze induced slumber. Her eyes darting about the dark RV frantically, she quickly found the culprit. His form was merely a shadow, but she could tell by the way he carried himself and the tail-end of the arrow he was still holding close to her that it was him.

"You scumbbag!" she hissed, trying to express her anger as quietly as possible. She heard the smugness in his voice despite his hushed tone when he spoke.

"Payback's a bitch, ain't she?" he said evenly, as he snapped his arrow back into its spot in the quiver. She brought her hand to her face suddenly as she tried to will away the headache that was hammering away in her skull as she remembered the morning he'd been suffering from a hangover and the rude awakening she'd given him.

"What the hell are you doin' in here anyway?" she whispered angrily. He walked backwards a step, setting his crossbow down on the table, and moved to fill a glass of water.  
"You said you needed to show me something." He said easily as he handed her the glass. She took it, shooting him a glare. He'd get no 'thank you' out of her at this hour.

"Yeah, well, when I said it, it wasn't a fuckin' invitation to come scare me awake at some ridiculous hour." She snarled in between gulps. There was a pause. She assumed a bit prematurely that she'd put him in his place before he piped up again.

"You ain't much for mornin's, are ya?"  
She almost threw the glass back at him, but stopped herself, thinking better of it. There was no self-satisfaction in his voice just then. It was almost as if he'd asked an actual question. Instead, wind going out of her sails, she heaved a sigh, "Seriously, Daryl. What's up?"

He shrugged. "Ain't you gotta get doin' your pony patrol soon? Figured you'd be out cold way past normal hour, seein' as how you hit the bottle as hard as you did at supper…I was up. Thought I'd wake you for your rounds."

"How nice of you." She said sarcastically, standing to stretch. There was no going back to sleep now, she reasoned. She pushed her feet into her boots and looked out the camper's massive windshield.

"Stayin' dark longer." He said quietly, as if he'd just read her mind. She nodded without saying anything, shouldering her holster, and moving to check the cabinets for some sort of pain reliever. She'd need it if her head was going to insist in thumping like this for the rest of the morning. Finding some, she opened the container and dry-swallowed them before closing the cabinet back up. When she turned, she was surprised to see Daryl still standing in his spot by the door. She raised her eyebrows and shook her head, wordlessly asking why he hadn't gone about his day yet.

"Goin' huntin' in a bit. I can hold up for a while if ya wanna." He answered.

She nodded, but then added a requisition, "I just have to be back around noon to go around again. I'll come find you when I'm done or something." He seemed alright with it, and with that, he departed from the RV.

It took her a few minutes to walk out to the stables. The sun had barely risen yet, and what little light it was giving off, was being swallowed up by the overcast sky. The rain that had fallen during the night had brought with it certain dampness. It was autumn's calling card. Though the days may warm up a bit after this, by the way the chill hung in the air, it was easy to figure there would be no more hot days. Colder, darker, more uncertain months lay ahead, and she knew it in that moment, as she felt the dampness cling to her.

She cautiously made her way into the stable to ready the horse for their surveillance of the property. Once she had saddled the animal and got her going, she realized she was no longer as hung-over as she feared she might have been when she first woke. She was thankful that she wouldn't have to lug her aching body around the woods while trying not to vomit all over herself. Dry heaving, she mused, was not conducive to a successful hunt.

She took her time, as the morning light began to push its way through the cloud-cover, weaving through the tree line and inspecting the area just beyond for any signs of disturbance; walker or otherwise. As she went, she checked the fencing around the pasture where the cows and horses grazed. She noticed a tree limb, probably torn away from it's trunk during the rainstorm, had fallen on a section of fence, knocking it down. She made a mental note to tell Hershel and Rick that someone would need to make their way out there today to make repairs, hoping to hell that she wouldn't get stuck with the task. She had plans for her day, goddammit.

As she continued to survey the area, her mind wandered to the hunt and what she wanted to show her fellow hunter this afternoon. She was pretty excited to show him what she'd figured out the day before. A grin slowly drew across her lips as she imagined the look he'd give her. She'd been pretty impressed with herself. She'd take something big down today with her new trick. She'd take something big down and no one would have to eat one of Daryl Dixon's damned squirrels.

When she arrived back at the stable, she was surprised to see him standing there, waiting for her. "Christing fuck, man. Someone light a fire under your ass this morning, or what?" she asked.  
He shrugged his broad shoulders in his typical, noncommittal fashion. "Just wanna get moving. The hell took you so long?" he chided, half-heartedly.

"I dunno if you've noticed," She laughed, "But there's a ton of ground to cover out there."  
He simply nodded in acknowledgement of her rebuttal and began aiding her in undoing the straps that held the tack on the horse, all the while, silently rushing her with his presence.

They set out in a new direction this morning. Off behind the barn, past a small pond. She hadn't been on this way, much yet. He'd started off immediately. Squirrel after squirrel. They hadn't been gone a half hour and he'd already had four strung up. She sneered at the dangling rodents.  
"Don't you get sick of those things?" she piped up.

"Sick'a wha'?" he asked, peering back at her over his shoulder, clearly surprised and annoyed that she'd opened her mouth. She reached forward wordlessly to tug at the line he'd hung his kills from.

He followed her hand with his eyes and gave a loud snort that was sopping with contempt, "No. I don't get tired of _food_."

"You know what I mean, Dixon," She corrected him, but there wasn't as much sting behind her words as she'd intended. She found herself smirking at his smartass retort, and oddly enough, he'd returned the smirk with one of his own. "Don't you eat anything besides those rats?"

"Ate that rabbit you ga'me the other night." He answered quietly as he began to move forward again. "Squirrel's just easy. If it's there an' I see it, I'm gunna take the shot. Ain't the time or the place t'be picky."

She knew he was right. It was a good, logical way of thinking…But that wasn't going to stop her from egging him on or trying to get her way.  
"Let's try for porkchops tonight. Whadda'ya say?" Her accent slid more freely from her tongue as she grinned at him and picked up her pace to move to stride past him. He paused for a second, lowering his crossbow and his ever-present scowl deepened considerably.  
"You ain't serious?" he asked. He sounded annoyed.

"Sure. Why not? They're out here…And you're King of the Fucking Forest, Tracker Extraordinaire, right? So let's fucking go. They'll kiss our feet tonight if we come back with bacon for the morning."  
"They can kiss my ass_ NOW_. I ain't goin' for hogs. Not today…'Sides, you gotta get back early. That shit could take all day."  
She shrugged at his excuse. "No one'll notice, I'm sure. C'mon."

He dropped his head and rubbed at the bridge of his nose. She stared at him for a moment, taking in his posture and she lowered her voice a bit before asking again. "Why not?"

He looked back to her. His eyes narrowed dangerously before he softened a bit and he began to chew nervously on his thumbnail. He moved his visage to glance to his side and behind him. She couldn't tell if he was checking for potential threats or for other people. Upon turning back to her, he rested the bottom of his foot against the nearest tree and hitched the left leg of his pants up to reveal a massive, ugly gouge of a scar that extended from the middle of his calf muscle, and carved its way up, to what she had to assume, past his knee. She winced at the sight unintentionally.

"I was twenty, I guess. Maybe a little older, I dunnno. I'd been trackin' 'em all day. That momma and her piglets…Must'a ended up downwind somehow, cuz she came at me and I didn't even hear 'er. Tore me up real good 'fore I even realized what was happenin'. Managed to get up a tree. Sat there half the night. Bleedin'. When I got down, I hiked home an' drove myself to the hospital…Only reason Merle knew I was there was cuz he'd got his face cracked open real good in a bar fight. Sonovabitch was handcuffed to one'a the beds when I went in." The smile that crawled across his lips at the last bit was almost rueful.

She matched his sad smile with one of her own before letting it spread into a knowing, full grin and backed towards another tree, opposite from the one he'd leaned against. Mischief played in her eyes as she undid the high laces of her boot and looked back and forth between it and the man in front of her. He looked positively boggled. She slid the boot off and rolled down her sock after it, looking around instinctively, checking for threats. Once the sock was off, she pointed out a thick, jagged scar that encircled her ankle like a shackle made of angry looking skin. He crouched down next to her to get a better look at the pink mark.

"Bear trap. I was fifteen," she laughed, "I was with my uncle, thankfully. Some asshole left it there. They were fucking illegal, too…If I'd stepped on the thing the other way…" She gestured up and down with her finger, "Woulda lost the foot, probably."  
He nodded with a small smile.

"But…" she continued, "I'm not half as scared of bear traps as you are of…Piggies." His smile immediately turned to a vicious scowl. She slapped at his bare arm and leveled him with a look of her own.

"Oh, c'mon. I'm just fucking with ya, and ya know it!"

He let a weak sigh go and shook his head. When she was satisfied that he wasn't going to fly off the handle, she reached over to her leather pack that was slung from her shoulder.

"Okay! So you ready to see something cool?" she laughed.

He eyeballed her hesitantly. "Yeah. Guess so."

She pulled a small, round metal ring out of her bag. It looked like it might be a key ring, as well as two thick black rubber bands. She looped the two bands around the key ring and then looped the other ends to the yoke of her slingshot. She turned to him and raised her eyebrow at him, as if she'd asked if he was following her every step.

"Yeah." He shrugged.

Suddenly, she reached across him and plucked one of the bolts from his crossbow's quiver. "Hey!" he snapped reaching to grab it back. She shooed him back, flapping her arm at him in an exaggerated motion.

"You'll get it back, man. Don't worry."

"Better get it back on one piece. You know how long it takes to make those?...The right kinda switch I need to find?" he lectured.

"Shut ya trap for a second, man. I get it." Her accent grew thicker and more staccato for a brief moment, annoyed, as she waved her hand at him again.

"You best get that hand out mah face 'fore you lose it, lady." He warned, turning his face from her and snarling like a dog that guards its food. She laughed his threat off as she threaded his bolt through the ring that was now firmly attached to the slingshot. She raised the weapon, scanning the area for a suitable target, finding one quickly, but not letting him know at what she'd taken aim. She released her grip on the sling and let the bolt fly. It found its intended mark; the body of a squirrel perched high in the branches of a tree that was a few yards off in the distance.

She turned to him quickly, taking in how his slack-jawed stare fell on the carcass of the dead squirrel. She swatted his bent knee playfully and rose to her feet to retrieve her prize.  
"There's another rat for you, Dixon!" she called back to him. He immediately stood to follow her, nearly tripping over his own feet.

"So where'd you learn that?" he asked. She shrugged a reply as she picked up the impaled rodent and inspected it. Nice and fat. The little bastard had been busy all summer, that much was evident.  
"Dunno. I just figured you can shoot just about anything from this thing. Why not an arrow, right?"

He reached for her weapon, taking it from her hand unceremoniously to look it over. He nodded in approval. "Good to have options, ammo-wise…This here thing may be almost as good as mah bow."

She laughed and snatched the thing back from him. "Shit! Had I known you'd get such a boner for the damn thing, I wouldn't have given the other to the kid!"  
He bowed his head and coughed a bit, obviously taken aback by her word selection. As foul as his mouth was, it was funny to see him flustered by her language.

She laughed at him again, pulling the arrow from the dead animal's flesh and tossing it to him.  
"So porkchops?" she grinned when he looked back to her as he caught the squirrel. He chewed the inside of his cheek and glared at her again. By his expression, she'd just about been ready for him to haul off and punch her for pressing the issue further. Fortunately, he'd apparently been worn down by either her taunting or the prospect of fresh pork for dinner. He nodded sharply giving her a grunt of approval before marching ahead, eyes cast to the forest floor, searching for a trail to follow.


	12. Chapter 12

This chapter is better, and dare I say "cute" at a point. Daryl struggles internally while Pru remains seemingly oblivious.  
I'm also pretty confident, after looking up and reading over how to properly field dress large game, I have good technical knowledge of how to do it, haha.  
And LOL at what I decided to make him afraid of.

I hope you guys are enjoying, so far. As always, I'd love to hear from you! Let me know what you guys think.

Disclaimer: I own not TWD or anything affiliated with it. Kirkman owns. I suck.

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She'd done it. He'd tracked the son of a bitch, but she'd been the one to spot it and line up the shot with her newly modified sling. She'd been the one to take the beast down. When she'd moved to it, as it squalled and shook in its death throes, he'd reflexively put a hand to her shoulder, wordlessly telling her to mind herself. She turned, glancing from the hand on her shoulder to his worrying gaze that was fixed on the dying swine. Her soft chuckle drew his eyes down to meet hers briefly. She rolled them away from him and walked towards the animal, pulling out one of her guns to fire a silent kill shot into the animal's brain.

"Cocky bitch." He laughed to himself. He kept his amusement brief, though, knowing that the dying animal's loud noises may have caught the attention of any geeks that may have been in earshot. He drew his crossbow back up, scanning the area as he stalked toward Pru, who'd already produced a knife and skillfully and delicately began carving away at the hog's reproductive organs so she could field dress it. He watched her wince a bit."This fucker _stinks_!" she whistled.

"You wan' me to do that?" he drawled quietly. She replied without looking up, her hands and eyes busied with slicing through the thick, tough hide.

"No. I got it," She paused though, taking in the size of the animal for a moment. "But I may need you to reach up and get through the windpipe for me. This guy's pretty big. Dunno if I'll be able to reach without getting lost inside 'em." She turned to look up at him, he assumed, to gage whether that would be okay with him, and made to wipe away the perspiration that settled in the tiny divot of her top lip with her bicep. Instead, she smeared a bit of blood across her small mouth. He swallowed hard as he studied the way the blood streaked across her sun-kissed face before he reached for his red handkerchief that dangled from his back pocket, handed it off to her. He nodded tersely in response to her suggestion.

Upon dabbing at her mouth she relinquished the rag went back to work without another word. He pulled his eyes from her, scanning the area, again, and began silently berating himself, balking at his own chivalrous act, "What the fuck was _that_?" Merle would have kicked his ass.

_Ooh, you getting' sweet on this here slampig now, Darylena? She don't want your little pecker! She needs a real man to show her a good time!_

He shook his head, attempting to clear it. Since Andrea had opened her yap the night before, he'd had trouble curtailing his wandering thoughts, so much so that he'd barely slept at all. He refused to admit that he'd looked after her, both to Andrea and to himself. When he got back to his tent, he'd thought about their conversation from earlier in the day. How it made something in him twinge when she'd looked up at him, tears pooling in her hazel eyes.

_…I wasn't gunna let that shit happen again…_  
_…Again…_

__She'd said the word, "again", hadn't she? Deacon and Bill hadn't been the first men to put their hands on her like that, apparently. He found himself growing angry, for some reason. He found himself wanting to lash out, but he quelled his impulses by vowing that as long as she remained a part of their group, it wouldn't happen. There wouldn't be another "again".

And then there it was. The image of her crying from yesterday was wiped away, like the blood on her lips by the rag he'd produced for her, to be replaced with her bright eyes staring up at him, smiling almost skeptically. His lips arched in one corner in response to the thought…Until he realized it wasn't a thought.

"Hellooooooo. Earth to Daryl. You still with me?" she chuckled, waving her bloody arm and the hilt of her little Gerber at him. He'd zoned out and now became aware that he'd been staring down at her, making some happy, goofy face for god knows how long. He rushed to grab the knife from her and knelt to reach up inside the hog's body so he could cut the esophagus and trachea free.

"You alright, man?" she urged, laying a hand on his bare arm, "You were off pretty far there, for a minute." He shrugged her hand off. He grimaced, stretching as he reached deep into the carcass to yank the severed organs free, and he was thankful for the unintended facial expression, hoping that it disguised his embarrassment.

"M'fine," he groused, "Just hungry." She rolled her eyes, springing from her crouch next to him to grab hold of her kill's front legs. She tipped the animal forward and all of its entrails tumbled out into the forest's rich Georgia soil.

"Well, then. Let's get moving. We haven't been gone too long. We'll make it back and have this guy ready for a late lunch or early dinner, maybe." She smiled. He nodded, wiping the blood from her knife and handing it back to her before stooping to grab the animal's hind quarters.

They'd made it back to camp fairly quickly considering they were hauling what must've been a hundred and twenty-five pound hog. When they broke free of the woods just beyond the house, Carl and Glenn had been the first to see them carrying their prize. The younger of the two let out an excited whoop and flew to their side, buzzing about happily while Glenn, all smiles, took Pru's end from her. Hearing the excitement, T-dog had also run over, happily clapping the redneck on the shoulder and hefting the animal's weight along with Glenn.

"Good job, man! This sucker's huge! Whew!" T-Dog cheered. Daryl folded his body in half, resting a hand on his knee, and falling behind the group for a beat.  
"Yeah, well, don' thank me," he called as he jogged to catch up, "Thank Ladybird, over there. All I done was track it. S'her kill." T-Dog's eyes fell to Pru, smiling in disbelief.  
"Well, look at you, girl! You ain't here but a week and you're already showing him up! Nice!" he congratulated. She said nothing, but laughed breathlessly, waving a hand at him dismissively.  
"Yeah, yeah," she said, trying to catch her breath, "Just bring the thing over to the big tree so I can hang and skin it. I'll be over."

"MOM! CAROL! PATRICIA! COME LOOK WHAT MISS PRU GOT US FOR SUPPER!" Carl shouted as he took off for the house ahead of the two men as they carried the menu item towards their camp.

The tired, sweat-soaked man came to stand next to her and tapped her on the shoulder with the back of his hand. "I'll take care'a it."

She tilted her head up to look at him, a bit taken aback by his offer. "You sure?"

"Yeah. I mean, unless you feel like doin' more work than ya need. That's fine by me, but you got shit to do that you're late for anyway, so…" he cajoled. She grinned and raised her hands in surrender as she walked backwards and he couldn't help but shoot her a small smirk. She turned to walk off in the direction of the stable.

"Pru!" he called to her, nearly choking on her name as it came out. He quickly realized he'd never said it out loud before. She stopped and turned to face him again. He worked to soften his ever present scowl before speaking again. "Ya done good."  
She smiled and nodded her head, turning back around. "Well aware. This ain't my first rodeo, baby."  
His stomach knotted up quickly and he turned to the house, grinning slightly and whispered to himself. "Cocky fucking bitch."

He'd skinned the hog out by the tree and then had T-Dog help him bring it back up to the house so Carol and Lori could butcher the thing and maybe figure out how to preserve as much of it as they could. It would be a shame to waste a damn scrap, but he knew that even with all of them eating until they were stuffed tonight, tomorrow morning, and _maybe_tomorrow, if it kept well in the coolness of the home's old basement, they wouldn't come close to finishing the meat off before it went bad. He wasn't a fan of pickled meats, but he hoped to hell they'd figure something out. Pickings would be slim for them in the coming months.

He milled around the kitchen, enjoying the reprieve from the warm afternoon sun until the women had enough of him getting underfoot and they cast him out of the kitchen. With his day's planned task completed, he found himself not knowing what to do with himself. As he strode lazily through the front of the house, he absently went to scratch at his scalp. When he touched his fingers to his mussed hair, he grunted in disgust when he realized he probably hadn't showered since right after he'd injured himself. Was that almost three weeks ago, now? When he'd realized he was in front of the stairs he huffed a sigh and trudged up to the second floor.

He set his crossbow down on the closed lid of the toilet, toed out of his boots, and shucked his filthy clothes quickly, before catching a glimpse of himself in the medicine cabinet mirror about the sink. He ran his calloused palm down his tired face, taking in the smears of dirt and flecks of blood that peppered his skin. He looked older than he remembered, but maybe that was because the grime had settled in every time line on his face and neck.

When he stepped into the spray of the warm water, he muttered to himself about how stupid he was for going so long without this. He'd always found a reason not shower; His stitches, baby-sitting Carol, watch duty, hunting, not feeling like it, being too tired, someone else using it, and the excuse that he was just going to get dirty again anyway. He groaned and allowed his mouth to fill with water as he reached for whatever soap he could find. As he scrubbed, he watched the mud fall away and circle the drain.

_…Baby…_  
His eyes snapped open and he shook his head at the thought. He finished rinsing off quickly, turning off the faucet roughly, and hopped out to towel off. He saw his reflection in the mirror again and he stood there a moment bracing himself against the sink.

_You gunna fall in LOVE and make a bunch'a ugly-ass, geek bait rugrats? Pull yer head out yer ass, baby brother! YER ALONE! An' better off that way!_

He snarled at himself. The man in his mind, his brother, was right. He needed to quit this before he ended up like these other idiots, blubbering and fussing over things they couldn't change. He already failed to save Sophia. He bent to gather the dirty clothes on pulled them back on his body before leaving the bathroom, running down the steps, and out onto the porch. The sight of Pru teaching the kid how to aim his new slingshot stilled him, briefly. He growled again when she tossed her head back and laughed, and he grunted, heading across the massive lawn to his little camp._  
_


	13. Chapter 13

**Helloooo again. I'm on a roll because I had two days off from work in a row. That never happens. So I've spent the weekend in bed, hammering out this chapter, the last two, as well as the next(hopefully). This chapter was fueled by Guinness & pizza. OM NOM.**

**In this chapter we see Pru interact more with characters other than Daryl, though she begins to realize there may be something between them. Andrea's trying**** desperately to play matchmaker. And Pru's gross hair finally gets the axe.**

In the next chapter, we're going to see some much needed drama. Let's be honest, cute stuff is fun & all for a while, but...Honestly I get bored with it, & you guys probably are bored, too.

Speaking of that, I've very obviously taken some liberties with the week that passed while they were waiting for Randall to heal before Rick & Shane went to release him in S2.10. This is literally right before that, BUT I feel like I may be cramming some things in together, omitting somethings, or just going all over the place chronologically, so please forgive me. I'm going to pretty much continue to stick with the order in which the show moves, with the main points, anyway. But yea, that's what's ahead.

Thank you, as always for reading! And LEMME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! I don't have any reviews on this baby, & I'd really love some feedback. Enjoy!

I don't own TWD. Not the show, not the comics, not the characters, NOTHING!

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"No, Bud, not…" She huffed. Her sigh was soaked with frustration. Did nothing stick in this kid's brain?

She'd never been too good around kids. It wasn't that she disliked them. In fact, it was quite the contrary, she adored children. She admired their boundless energy, their innocence, and above all, their candor. But goddamn if this one wasn't the most fidgety, talkative one she'd ever met. She thought for a second, though, about what this frightening new world must be like for Carl- a little boy who was being pulled and pushed in so many different directions now, by every adult around him. The last and only friend his age, lost for weeks in a horrifying, uncertain world, only to have her stricken with whatever cruel plague was haunting what was left of humanity, and ultimately ending up having to be put down, like a sick animal, right in front of his own eyes. If she had ever believed in any kind of God, at any time, she thought now, this very moment, would be when she'd stopped believing. What a cruel fucking mockery. This poor kid.

But that's why she was doing this now. She was giving him an outlet. A distraction, hopefully. She reeled herself in, allowing herself to laugh a bit in an attempt to settle her nerves and mind.

"Now think about what I told you yesterday. Stand up straight. Make a line." She urged and tried to reposition the kid's stiff little legs.  
"My arm hurts." The kid complained absently as he pulled back on band aiming towards the empty tin cans Pru had collected for his target practice. They were lined up along the top of an old sawhorse Herschel had hauled from the barn for the kid to use.

"Yeah, well. Get used to it."  
She puffed through her lips, looking down into the boy's face. He was bored. This was not what she'd intended. This was supposed to be fun.  
"Alright, man. Take a break. I guess you've earned it, huh? We've been at this for over an hour today." She relinquished, ruffling the kids hair and moving to sit, legs crossed, next to him. He smiled up at her, taking a seat himself, and folding the slingshot over into itself, setting it down by his feet. He reached for his father's old hat, placing it back atop his head. They sat there for a while talking about nothing. She'd asked what his favorite food used to be, what he hated least now. He asked her about a few of her tattoos for a bit, too, until they saw Andrea approaching from the direction of the farmhouse.  
She walked towards them, a wide grin across her face.

"So how's target practice going, hot shot?" she directed at Carl. He smiled and went to open his mouth in response, but Pru cut him off.

"We'd be doing better if _someone_ could shake the ants out his pants for a minute!" she laughed and nudged the kid. Carl laughed and playfully pushed her back a little. Pru shot both Carl and Andrea an incredulous face and gave a sharp laugh of disbelief that he'd been bold enough to shove her back. They all laughed for a short moment before Andrea pulled a fat, ripe peach from her pocket followed by a box of apple juice and handed it off to the young kid.

"Here, tough guy. Your mom wanted me to give you this and tell you she wanted to up at the house. I think with everyone else worried about Beth, she could use some help and company, hmm?"  
The kid rolled his eyes but nodded. He stood and collected his snack and new slingshot before turning back to the women.  
"Ladies." He said quietly, as he'd tipped the brim of his hat ever so slightly, no doubt mimicking something he'd seen either his daddy or Shane do at some point, and ran back towards the house. The two women giggled a bit at the young boy's adorable attempt at being a charming young man.

After a silent moment Andrea piped up, "I think that little one has a crush on you."  
Pru laughed again, this time louder and more sharply and then scrubbed her inked forearm across her eyes. "Ha! Yeah, that's exactly what I need. It makes sense though, considering the fact that we've been practicing his aim for almost a week now and he still can't focus on anything."

She noticed Andrea trying to stifle a wicked grin by pursing her lips and raised her eyebrows. "You know, I don't think he's the only one with a crush on you…"  
Pru immediately felt a bit awkward, but responded to her vague comment with one of the two ways she usually dealt with awkward situation. Humor. She pressed her knuckles to her hips, craned her neck out and cast her eyes down at the woman sitting opposite her. She made as if she was letting her down easy…  
"Now Andrea, I'm very flattered and all but…"  
Andrea reached over and thumped the brunette's bent knee lightheartedly.  
"Bitch! That is _not_ what I meant," Andrea laughed, "…No. Daryl."  
"Who said ya can help yaself to my liquor stash?" Pru said jocundly, rolling her eyes and gesturing absently with her hands, her accent unintentionally thickening again. "Ya outta ya mind."  
"No. _You _gotta be out _your_ mind not to notice it." Andrea chuckled as she poorly mimicked her accent and snapped her fingers at her. Pru gave her a sidelong look. "Right, Andrea."

"You're going to sit there and tell me that you seriously never feel that man's eyes boring holes into your back? That you don't notice that you're the _only_ one of us who he'll spend any amount of time with?" Andrea argued.  
"Well, so what? That doesn't mean the guy has a thing for me. It's probably just boredom or something. Besides, I haven't seen him for more than a minute or two in, what? Three days? I'm telling you, man, you're imagining things." She said as she rolled a piece of her matted hair between her fingers absently. She caught sight of it and what she was doing and groaned. She reached into her boot and pulled her Gerber knife free, opening it to hack away at the knotted clump of hair.  
"God, don't do that!" Andrea castigated, reaching to pull the knife from her hand.  
"It's just hair. It grows back." Pru retorted calmly. She looked at the exasperation on Andrea's face. She looked away for a second as she realized it was a similar expression she'd given Meredith many times. It was the look one sister gave to another when they felt the other had done something dumb. She smiled sadly back at Andrea for a second, and somehow, she could see in the other woman's eyes that she caught her train of thought. They both shared the same heartache, the loss of their little sisters. Dale had told her the whole story of what had happened to Amy one night a few days back. How Andrea had almost given up. She'd cried herself to sleep that night in the front of the RV, her heart mourning both Mer and the girl she'd never known.

Andrea was becoming her sister now. The two tended to gravitate towards one another, being the only women in camp who regularly were called upon to do any kind of heavy-lifting, or "men's work", as Lori had called it. They found themselves bonding over that, as well as their share of distaste of "women's work", and the way the other women clucked about things like hens in a coop. They knew they were different and it drew them together.

Andrea returned the sad smile before letting it grow into a genuine, teasing one. "You're a savage. Why don't you let Carol or Patricia fix your hair?"  
"It's been like this for months, now. I don't know the last time I brushed it," She said honestly then laughed again, pulling a bit of dried leaf from it, "This whole part is matted to my head! I don't know how much 'fixing' can be done...Besides, you don't think I have a cool Helena Bonham Carter thing going on?"

"Ugh. C'mon. You look like Medusa. Anything's better than this, right?" the blonde said as she tugged on one of the tiny, unintentional dreadlocks.

"Who's the bitch _now_?" Pru laughed, shooing her hands away. Andrea snorted.  
After a beat she spoke again, this time, with a wry smile, not unlike the one Andrea had plastered on her face when the conversation had begun. "So…_Shane_?"

Andrea stilled, her face flushing and she shrugged, "Seemed like the right thing to do at the time."

Pru cackled at her choice of words, fully enjoying the conversation now, "What a fucking caveman! It must have been pretty good, though. I see you look at him sometimes the way you say...You know. Daryl."

Andrea shrugged again, laughing. They talked that way for another hour about Shane and Pru's absolute mistrust in him and how Andrea was very clearly on the opposite side of the fence, about how Andrea and Amy had come to be part of the original group, the people they'd lost along the way…Amy, Jim, Jackie, little Sophia, Merle…Then they ended back on the topic of Daryl Dixon. She'd eventually blown Andrea off completely, opting to just smile and nod at anything she'd said to her about the man showing interest in her, until she remembered a few days back, while she'd been gutting that hog. The way he'd stood there, smiling down at her. Now that she thought about it, for some dumb reason the first place her head went to was that she could almost imagine little cartoon hearts and birds fluttering around his head.

Shit. Andrea may be right. She felt her face grow warm and she drew her knees up to her body, resting her chin on them. Andrea tapped her on her shoulder then, pulling her from her reverie.

"C'mon. Let's see about getting that hair fixed."

She sighed again, looking back at Andrea's happy face. "You're really not gunna let this slide? I'm not going to win this one, am I?"  
"Well, I _was _a lawyer." She replied.

"Of course you were."  
An hour and a half later, her hair was a few inches shorter, it was a bit choppy, but it was soft again. There was no saving the large chunk of hair that had been matted firmly to her scalp by what must have been months now of not brushing and having the habit if sleeping with her head rested to that side. They'd cut that part as short as possible before Pru had gone upstairs to shave the rest of that clump off completely. At first, she'd just done it for sanitary reasons, but the more she looked at it, the more she liked it.

She tidied up the bathroom and headed back outside to get ready to make her rounds on the horse. As she crossed the yard she heard Dale call to her from his post at the top of the RV, "Even though the world's been turned on its head, it's comforting to know that you young people can still be counted on to do loony things to your hair!" She laughed mirthfully, flipping him the bird as she went. He returned the gesture.  
"You're learnin' Dale!"

As she'd turned the corner to walk into the stable, she'd unintentionally looked out across the field. There he was, sitting at the foot of the remains of that old, stone chimney. She could barely make him out, but he was definitely there. There was a slight haze of smoke that rose from his little fire pit and she saw his shape shifting around behind it. She worried at her bottom lip with her teeth as she felt her face grow warm again. Damn Andrea for planting that seed.

She took the long way around the farm, even making two passes before she finally worked up the nerve to ride past his camp. She'd mulled the whole thing over in her mind. Really? Were his actions that out of the ordinary when he was around her? The more she thought about it, the more she thought about how awkward he was, and the more she thought about how awkward he was, the more she found herself smiling a bit.


	14. Chapter 14

**Yo.**  
**Thank you to everyone who's recently started following my little fic, and an especially huge thanks to all of you who continue to read. You make my heat go pitter-patter. I played hookie from work today because, LOL I'M ALLEGEDLY AN ADULT.**

**Okay, so...Onto business, right? This is one of the longest chapter's I've done, and as I'd promised, its more action, tension, and drama. Daryl POV. A little bit of heartache.**

**I also touched on one part of S2.10 that I don't think may people have talked about or explored. I guess I more than touched on it, it's the main focus of this chapter and the whole reason there's such an uproar. When I watched the scene in the show it made my skin crawl. Carl, to me, seems to be coming unhinged, just like the adults he's around most...And that scene with the walker in the swamp. HOOBOY. RED FLAG. That, to me was the indicator.**

**Also, there's a bit of a nod to LOL WHERE'S CARL. Because seriously, does that kid ever stay fucking put?**

**Things that play out after this will play out very similarly,except with a bit of a twist.**

**I think I've stuck an extra day or two in the story's timeline someplace, too. Oopsy. After this, we all know what's coming, right? After THAT happens, all bets are off, and I'm probably going to take the story in a different direction. So buckle the fuck up and hang on, because shit about to get rough =)**

**Thanks again for the read, and feel free to review, PM me, or ask me some questions if you like! Have funnnnnnnnnnnnn!**

**The Walking Dead and its characters, in any form, do not belong to me, and that sucks.**

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For five days he'd listened to the voice inside his head on and off. Merle's voice was tough to shake, and when he wasn't purposely avoiding her because of the conclusions he'd come to, he was avoiding her because he was too chicken shit to look her in the eye, and now with the events of yesterday playing out the way they had, he hadn't really needed to avoid her. He'd spent most of the evening and this morning in the barn. With Randall.

Before _that_ welcome distraction, he'd finally been able to admit to himself that he was attracted to her. He reasoned that most any man in his right mind would be, and that was his excuse. She had nice, wide hips and round ass, tits that he would fit perfectly in his palms, and she wasn't rail thin like Andrea was. Not yet, anyway. As he sat there now, going back over his excuse, it caused the flood gates to tear open and he began thinking of all the other reasons he found her attractive. Realizing quickly his favorite thing about her was the way she grit her teeth when she lined up a shot.

The normally hyper-aware and skillful tracker wasn't aware of the sound of her light footfalls as she walked behind him. It wasn't until she'd innocently kicked a loose pebble that ricocheted off the stone hearth on which he'd sat that he'd realized someone was approaching. The noise caused him to falter and in doing so, he sliced the heel of his hand with the knife's freshly whetted blade. It wasn't a severe cut by any means, just enough to begin bleeding immediately and be annoying.

"Fuck!"  
The next thing he knew Pru was at his side, yanking his hand towards her.

"What happened? Are you bit?" she asked urgently. He yanked his hand back from her, inspecting the cut more closely.

"No, goddammit!" he snapped before he managed to calm himself, "…No. Just. Just cut m'self is all."

She reached for his injured hand again, pushing the sleeve of his worn denim jacket up his forearm and out of the way, presumably to inspect it herself.

_See, brother. It's already startin'. She's a fucking distraction! This bitch is gunna be the death a'ya!_

He snatched his hand back from her again and stomped over to his tent, reaching in for a clean t-shirt to wrap the injury up with. "I got it." He grunted.  
"Ya should let Herschel take a look at that. It's probably gunna need stit-"

"Will you just fuck _off_?" he growled, interrupting her.

She snarled and threw her hands up wildly and began to go back the way she'd come from. He stared at her angrily for a minute as he sloppily wrapped the shirt around his palm. After a moment he groaned and rolled his eyes at himself, regretting his fit.

"Stop!" he sighed, "I'm…Sorry." He held his hand up, hoping the injury would be a good enough excuse for his unnecessary eruption. She stopped and glanced over her shoulder to look at him before continuing to march away. Without thinking he'd moved after her, pulling her back around to face him.

"C'mon, I said I was sorry, dammit." He groused softly, "Didn't mean nothin' by it."  
She turned around to face him and she looked positively annoyed. "Go see Herschel." She ordered.

He snorted, "You ain't my momma."

She made an audible, throaty growl and if he was to be completely honest with himself, it was a bit off-putting and almost, well, scary. He wondered briefly what she'd be like in a fight. She'd probably fight dirty as hell…And he was fine with that.

He swallowed hard and moved his eyes from hers, down to the dirt at their feet, then back to her again. He gestured to her by jerking his chin, "What's with the hair?"  
"Dunno. Cut it off." She said quietly. He nodded, not knowing what to say after that and backed up when he realized he was standing a bit too close to her. After a silent moment, she hesitantly reached for his wrapped hand, yet again. The sting of annoyance ran through him as he thought about how absolutely stubborn she was. She looked at him defiantly, and pulled back the makeshift bandage, inspecting, then she flipped his hand over in hers, ghosting her thumb over his raw, scabbed knuckles. He hissed.

"You definitely need stitches, man, or its gunna get infected. Or make a really huge scar that's gunna fuck with how you move your hand." She admonished as she tucked the bloody scrap back around his hand.

He chuckled a bit and turned away, sauntering back to his spot on the dark stones. "What's one more scar?"  
He heard her sigh again, defeat in the sound, and followed to taking a seat next to him. He figured she would have left instead, so he ventured a question, hoping in the back of his head that it wouldn't cause her to leave.

"Why ya out here?" he motioned to his surroundings with the hilt of his buck knife upon picking it back up.

She shrugged, shaking her head a bit in response, "Just goin' for a walk, I guess…Why?" she asked sheepishly, forcing a bit of a smile, "Ya want me to leave?"

He turned to answer her, "Naw. You kin stay, if you wanna." She nodded and looked away.

She was acting strangely. He wasn't the best at reading people's emotions, mainly because he never wanted to have anything to do with them in the first place, but this was a very obvious shift in her demeanor. She was quiet and awkward instead of her normal, bold self and it was beginning to make him a bit uneasy. He bent to pick up a new switch and began fashioning it into another bolt.

"So, uh…" she started, "Where ya been the last few days?"

He glanced at her suspiciously. "I dunno. Around. Busy." She nodded, falling silent again for another long, awkward period.

"Randall?" she hazarded. The answer she got was a stiff nod of conformation. Upon Rick and Shane's return from their failed mission the other evening, Rick had called upon Daryl to do what he was best at; being intimidating, menacing. It soon devolved into a torture session, with Daryl alone in the barn with the bound young man, trying to squeeze any information about Randall's former gang he could out of him. He beat the kid mercilessly about the face, kicking him, running the sharp blade of his knife, slowly across his skin.

It wasn't until Randall's story of what the other men in his group had done to two young women in front of their father, that he'd become genuinely enraged. This group that he'd run with…Rapists, thieves, murderers…The lot of them. His mind went directly to this Deacon guy. The one who'd attacked _her_. It wasn't going to fucking happen _again_. Not to her or any of the women in their group. He wanted so desperately to kill him, outright, and it took every ounce of strength he had in him to keep from it. He'd have to settle for making him suffer.

As much he generally loved silence, it was currently killing him. He could hear his pulse thundering in his eardrums and her presence just to his left made the air around him hum as he carved at the stick. He watched out the corner of his eye as she tugged at the frayed end of her bootlace and it made him all the more itchy to say something. Thankfully, she'd been the one to open her mouth first.  
"Daryl, I…" she choked out.  
"Hnm?"  
"I wanted to ask you something." She said, timorously.  
"Yeah?" he grunted, "Why you so curious 'bout everything all a'sudden?"  
He watched her smile a bit and shake her head before she spoke out again. As he began to realize what she was asking, his gut started to burn.  
"Andrea said something to me the other morning…About you… And I wanted to know if-"

They'd both heard it and sprung to their feet immediately. Something was making its way through the dense forest to their left, just past them, eventually making its way behind them.  
He sheathed his knife and grabbed up the crossbow that sat to his right and she removed one of her guns from their holster, clicking the safety off.  
"Let's go. You stay behind me." He urged in a hushed tone as he pushed past her and made his way into the woods.  
He could tell by the sound that whatever had moved past them had been about fifty feet in and was moving east, so he turned in that direction, finding the small trail the invader had left almost immediately. He squatted by a damp patch of leaves and mud.

"It's a kid." He whispered to her, noticing a small sneaker track, and he motioned forward, continuing onward.  
After about ten minutes of tracking they started to come upon the swampy area that surrounded most of the farm. The same swamp that had kept them safe over the last few weeks. They started to hear movement again as they came upon a slight clearing. There was a low, muffled gurgling, the sound of suction, and a sick, irregular _thunk_ sound that neither of them could identify.

They'd ducked behind an old fallen tree and peered over it. When he looked, it took him a second to process what he was seeing. Another second after that, she was running off towards the boy who'd been standing there, firing stone after stone into the side and back of the walker that had fallen, face first, into the thick mud of the swamp. The walker looked to have been a little old lady at one point. One of her worn, filthy house shoes lay behind her in the mire, and some of her ratted hair still up in curlers.

"Carl! What the _fuck _are you doing?" she nearly screeched. He hopped over the log and chased after her as she marched over to Rick and Lori's son.  
The kid froze when he saw the pair approaching him. Daryl could tell the kid knew he was in deep shit. He used to get that same look on his face when his daddy got drunk and came looking for him with a switch or an extension cord.

"I-I-!" he stammered. Pru yanked the slingshot from the child's hand grabbed him roughly by the arm and shook him fiercely.

"The fuck is wrong with ya, huh? Why would ya do that?" she yelled into the boy's face. She turned without saying anything and stared daggers into Daryl's eyes. It registered to him that she was wordlessly trying to tell him something. What though, he had no idea, too busy being thankful that he wasn't the boy.  
When she realized that Daryl had no idea what she was trying to convey to him, she let out an angry growl, dragging the kid with her to the lip of the thick, watery mud. She drew her gun and fired a round directly into the back of the flailing walker's head and its muffled, clay choked snarls grew quiet and it stilled.  
He saw her grip on the boy's arm tighten as she started dragging him off, back through the woods in the direction of the camp and the farmhouse. He watched as the boy's face contorted into a grimace.

"We're gunna have a little talk with your mother and father, Carl." She seethed.

"No! I'm sorry for wandering off! I won't do it again! I swear, Miss Pru!" he pleaded with her, tripping over his own two feet as she dragged him.

"That isn't what this is about and ya _know _it. Now stand up and walk! Move!" she demanded. The kid looked to Daryl, his eyes begged at him for help. Daryl sneered at the boy and spat into the mud. As far as he was concerned, the kid had a good ass whooping coming to him and whether it was by Pru's hand or his father's, well, he didn't care much one way or the other. Daryl stood there for a moment, and watched them pass, sensing the impending shitstorm that was about to rain down on their group. After a second, he moved to follow the woman back through the coppice, crossbow up in case there was more dead lurking in through the trees.

"LORI! RICK! GET OUT HERE!" she bellowed. She was no longer towing the boy by the arm, but shoving him forward in front of her now. Her shouts drew the attention of all the other survivors and they began leaking out of the house and tents camped out front. When Lori saw the rough treatment of her son, she sprinted off the porch running directly for Pru.

"Carl! CARL!" the pregnant woman cried. Pru gave the kid one last forceful shove and he fell to the dusty drive just as his mother reached him. She pulled him up quickly, and Daryl watched as the lioness tore its way through Lori's eyes as she closed the gap between her and Pru with a lunge. He jumped in front of Pru and took the brunt of Lori's assault with his chest, with Pru all but climbing his back to land a swing.

"WHOA! Hey, HEY!" Rick cried, tearing his wife off the two hunters by wrapping his solid arms around her, "What the hell is going on?" the deputy demanded.

"You were 'bout to hit a pregnant chick, dammit!" Daryl scolded.

"She fucking came at me first! I wasn't gunna hit her in the gut, anyway! I was aimin' for her empty head!" she spat. He wrapped an arm around her to keep her at his back. He would have used both, since she was struggling so much, but rather than cast his beloved crossbow to the ground like garbage, he opted not to break the thing and hold his right arm outstretched, as if he was guarding someone while playing basketball.

Daryl watched as Lori stilled and composed herself before she went to her son's side, grabbing his face in wordless askance. The boy was sobbing now and the mother clutched her son protectively to her chest. It was then that he realized every eye in camp was on him and Pru, scowling and judging, having only seen her push the child down. Shane's massive frame lumbered forward, giving Rick, who was hovering over his family, a dirty look, probably for not immediately jumping on Pru and kicking her head in.

"You big and tough, girly? You gunna beat on a little boy and a pregnant lady?" he rumbled menacingly as he reached for her. Without thinking, Daryl drew his weapon up and aimed it directly between the other man's eyes.

"So help me god, man, I will do it if'n you lay a hand on 'er." Daryl hissed. Pru was clawing at his back again, trying to get around him to lunge at Shane.

"ENOUGH ALREADY!" Rick barked, "I want answers! NOW!"

Daryl dug his fingers into her back, in an attempt at stilling her anger and lowered his bow, but only slightly. He didn't trust Shane at all, never had, and he wouldn't put it past the man to coldcock a woman half his size.

He could feel her hot fast panting on the back of his neck and shoulder and heard Pru's breath hitch as she struggled to catch it. He felt her hands still on settle on his side, giving it a bit of a squeeze briefly to let him know she was gunna back off and settle down. He nodded absently and allowed his hand to fall from her waist. As tense as the moment had been, he felt himself missing the heat of her body at his back. He damned himself for thinking about this now.

"Why don't ya go ahead and ask ya _son _about what we found him doin' out in the swamp?" she rasped. Rick swallowed, looking down at Carl. The boy was still curled into a ball and clutching to his mother. Rick peeled his eyes from his boy and Daryl felt mighty put upon when they found his, asking him for an explanation. Daryl moved his gaze back and forth between the hulking form than still stood in front of him, and the pleading eyes of Rick. He cleared his throat roughly before speaking, "Heard somethin' in the woods. Checked it out. Saw 'em firin' that slingshot at a walker that was stuck in the mud…No intention a'puttin' it down."

Rick blinked for a moment, taking it in.

"So what?" Shane spat, "It's dead."

"That's not the point, Shrek! That boy has no fucking respect for the dead! He was torturing it!" Pru crowed.

The color washed from Rick's face as he took the hand from his son's back and drew it up to his mouth, turning his now empty eyes to the dirt. To Daryl, it looked as if the man was about to be sick.

Shane snorted, "Respect for walkers? RESP- Pru, the damn things try to _EAT US_. Those things…They don't deserve our _respect_!"

"Oh? Well what about some of the other people ya've lost…Amy? Jim? Merl-"

He laughed, pointedly. "Yeah, yeah. Respect for Merle FUCKING Dixon. Right."

It was now Daryl's turn to lash out. Pru was sandwiched between both of them, crushing her for a fraction of a second, forced to kick and claw at both of them before T-Dog and Glenn pulled Shane's body backwards, restraining him a bit. Pru pushed her back against Daryl and the fight went out of him immediately.

Without pausing, she went on, and did something no one but he had ever done. She began to defend his brother, Merle. Defending _him_.  
"You know what, Shane? Maybe Merle was a sonovabitch," she said raising her eyebrows, daring him to listen, "Maybe he _was_an asshole. I dunno, man, I never met the fucking guy…But ya know what? His fucking brother is here, and he puts food in our damn bellies every night. Stuck his neck out, who knows how many times, for everyone here…Just like you. I think HE deserves that respect then, don't ya? So cut the shit!"

Daryl averted his eyes from the scene, looking off into the distance at nothing. He didn't know if he was about to laugh, cry, vomit, hit someone, or just sit the hell down and take himself out of the whole situation. She continued after a bit of a pause, seeing that the whole thing still hadn't sunken into Shane's thick skull.

"…What if one of us were to die? What if we were bitten right here, right now? Huh? Would ya think it were right if he started shooting pebbles into your sides just to see the blood run out, Shane? Rick's? Andrea's? ...LORI'S BLOOD?" she hollered. Shane pulled his eyes from hers, looking wounded and nervous. She'd struck a nerve, there, and he shut up.

"Carl," Rick whispered, his voice shaky, "S'at true? Is that what you were doin?"  
The boy nodded, causing Rick to balk.

"I was mad at the walkers!" the boy began to cry, "I was mad at them for Sophia and Amy! for everyone! Like you all are mad at Randall for trying to hurt you! I wanted to hurt them like Daryl hurt Randall!" Lori let out a pained wail at the child's admission.

…And suddenly that same wave of nausea that caused Rick to look pained a second ago enveloped Daryl and carried him off. He lowered his weapon and stumbled back a step, feeling as if the breath had been snatched from his lungs by Death, himself. Shane averted his gaze from the stricken man, realizing finally, that this was a problem.

"You were up in that barn after we told you to stay the hell out of it?" Rick snapped, at the child. But the man didn't need a verbal answer to know that his boy had disobeyed him. He tore Carl from Lori's protective arms and forced him to stand and look into his own eyes.

"What you saw…What Daryl did. That was for _US_. To protect us. To keep us safe! Those people out there, Carl, those are bad people…Walkers…They didn't choose to be the way they are. They're _sick_. They're dead…" He paused, and licked at his dry lips and a deep anger crept into his face and he shook the boy by the shoulders, "They were all someone's family once…"

Apparently, Pru had seen an opening in the lecture and felt it necessary to make a point to drive the message home. He'd felt her step from behind him and saw the back of her head move in front as she crouched.

Her voice was soft now as she spoke, "Carl, you know what Karma is?"

"Don't you talk to my son, you bitch!" Lori ground out. Rick put a hand up calmly to hush his wife, but Lori's words had already fanned Pru's flames again, and Daryl watched her hackles rise again.

"Ya know, Lori, maybe ya shoulda been a bit more concerned with ya kid _before _this happened. Maybe ya should keep an eye on him instead of dealing the deck out to everybody else…Everybody else who's lost their fuckin' families. We're all just babysitters to ya. And now here you go, getting' ready to shit out something else for us to watch…I've only been here for a few weeks and I'm already sick of it. The only reason ya haven't lost the other one yet is cuz the damn thing's still in there!...Watch ya fuckin' kids."

Daryl was all for Lori getting the wake-up call that she deserved. Everyone in the group was pretty over keeping tabs on their kid because both parents were busy with everything else. In Rick's defense, he was trying to keep everyone alive, but Lori…Daryl was pretty confident that everyone else thought she was too busy playing her husband and Shane off each other. He wasn't the only one who saw it. He knew. But right now, even he felt this was heading in an overly cruel direction. The woman was now crying in earnest, looking as if she wanted to crawl into a hole and die. He brought a hand to her should to calm her, but it only enraged her more. She turned to him briefly and slapped his hand away, "No!"

She turned back to Carl, "If that walker was someone ya knew, would ya have done it? What if it was your friend, Sophia?"

Daryl closed his eyes as he was abruptly stricken with the feeling of guilt, and a soft voice piped up from the back of the group.  
"That's enough, Pru…That's enough, now." Carol said stoically as she moved to Lori's side. When Daryl looked to Carol, he saw the woman's eyes swimming in a pool of unshed tears and he drew in a deep breath to steady himself.

Daryl saw Pru physically withdraw when she saw the ghosts in the other woman's eyes. She backed off immediately, pushing herself up off the ground and pulled the slingshot out of Carl's back pocket. He watched as she met the every set of eyes in the group, only earning a nod of confidence from Dale. As she began to stalk off, she put a few yards of distance between her and Daryl. He sprang forward after her, catching her wrist and she immediately spun around and pulled her gun on him, sticking it in his face. He froze, bile rising in his throat. Not because of the gun, but because of the pained look in her wet eyes. He bit his lower lip and furrowed his brow, forcing himself to back off by looking away.

She tore off towards the RV and when she reached it and stepped inside she slammed the door shut so hard that it caused Daryl to flinch all the way across the yard. He looked back towards the RV as Andrea came over to him, laying a hand on his shoulder.  
"I'll go." She mouthed silently. He nodded, eyes still cast toward the motorhome, and he watched her jog off in that direction. Behind him, he could sense the crowd dissipating, and he felt eyes creeping over him. He could hear hushed words exchanged between Carol and a sobbing Lori, but couldn't make them out, especially under the dull drone of what had become Rick scolding Carl further.

And now his fucking hand hurt. Where the hell had Herschel gone off to?


	15. Chapter 15

**Hooooooooooboy. Okay. So I'm just barely awake right now. I keep doing that nodding off thing.**

**I'm not even gunna hint at what happens in the chapter. YOU JUST GOTTA READ FOR YOURSELVES. **

**I apologize in advance for any missed grammatical errors. I am just too fucking done right now to give a rat's ass, lol.**

**Thank you, everyone for reading and reviewing, and keep it coming! Your reviews make my day! There's a lot more!3**

**OH. Also. I'm a shameless Caryl fan. Yes. But I think for the sake of this story, I'm gunna keep their relationship more brother/sister-ish. So there's that little heads up.**

**HAVE FUNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN**

**I DON'T OWN THE WALKING DEAD. I JUST MAKE A FOOL OF MYSELF.**

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When Andrea had followed her into the RV directly after the confrontation that had shaken the farm, they'd sat in silence next to each other in the driver and passenger's seat for a long while. Nothing needed to be said for a while. Unbeknownst to Pru, Andrea felt that she had been right to say what she had. Andrea agreed. It wasn't until Andrea laid a tentative hand on Pru's knee a bit over an hour later that she'd finally caved and let the waterworks flow. Andrea had moved to perch on the uncomfortable arm of the seat to allow the other woman to bury her face into her and just let go, and the sobs wracked her body for almost as long as they'd sat before that.

When she finally calmed down, Andrea told her that she had every right to say what had been said. They'd needed to hear it, she'd told her. Rick and Lori…And Shane. They'd all needed to hear it. The harsh realities of life and death had always been something that children were sheltered from in the old world. Hell, they'd all been sheltered, when they'd thought about it. No one had ever imagined such horrible things were possible…But then they'd happened, and this was now the reality they lived in. And the horrors of the world were good at corrupting what little innocence was left, and children were as innocent as they came; A fresh, clean slate on which the new ways of the world would be written, and if they all weren't careful, Carl, as sweet as he was now, would become a product of the hopelessness, peril, squalor, and death that now reigned.

Andrea went on to tell her of the night they'd lost Sophia. How she and Daryl had set out in the middle of the night to search the woods for the little girl, and the walker they'd come upon. Respect for the dead is what had made her all but beg Daryl to "waste" that arrow. The arrow that put an end to the hanged walker's hunger, wanderlust… That body's suffering… It was the right thing to do.

It was dark when they'd finished their conversation. They had holed up in the RV that afternoon and lingered there for the entire evening, with Pru shirking her patrol responsibilities, and Andrea missing her watch shift. No one came looking, however, probably sensing that they'd needed this time. Dale had come in after dinner, smiling warmly and bearing plates of food for the three of them. It was a quiet meal, not much needing to be said after that, and Pru found herself only picking at the food in front of her.  
After, Andrea cleaned up and only smiled her goodbyes to them both before leaving them to rest for the night. She'd half been tempted to ask her friend if she could room with her in her tent for the night, wanting to be near someone she trusted, but she refused to make herself out to be a burden, and she decided against it. Instead, upon Andrea's departure, Pru looked up to find Dale at her side. The sweet old man reached down to tilt her chin up, forcing her to look him in the eye. He smiled warmly.

"You're taking a bed tonight. No ands, ifs, or buts." He then raised his hand to wag his middle finger in her face. She laughed heartily despite herself, rising to her feet to hug him and shuffle off to the back.

She'd laid on the bed dosing until Carol had come in about a half hour later. Her face was to the wall, but she could tell that the quiet woman had stopped and looked over her form and though she could only assume why, it made her angry. Carol sighed and sat on the bed next to her, moving around an settling for a short time before Pru could tell that she'd fallen into unconsciousness by the way the woman was breathing. Her presence made her skin crawl, thinking about the look in the other woman's eye earlier in the day. She shifted to lie on her back. The turned to the other side. Then her back again. Wonderful. She wasn't going to be able to sleep now, not feeling as agitated as she was, now.

She cursed to herself silently and sat up, tossing her feet to the floor in order to shove them in down into her boot. She crept quietly to the front of the RV, inching the door open so as not to wake Dale, who was sleeping in her usual spot in the passenger seat. When the door closed, she finally let herself breathe again. She felt like she used to, when she was fourteen, sneaking out in the middle of the night, past her father's office door, hoping to hell that he didn't hear her trying to leave before he snuck into her room. Only Dale wasn't her father, and the worst she'd have to deal with from him was her own guilt from waking him, and him probably lecturing her about how she need her rest after what had happened today. She zippered her hoodie and gathered the hood around her head and neck in an attempt to ward off the night's chill.

She looked to the roof of the RV. Glenn sat up there, rifle in hand, staring out over the vast pastures. He caught the sight of her walking out of the corner of his eye, directing a sad half-smile and a meek hand wave her way. She returned the wave, but continued to walk off. She hadn't realized where her feet were carrying her until she was most of the way there. She paused, suddenly aware that she was at the edge of his camp. What was left of his small fire was smoldering and crackling lightly in its pit. The only other audible sound besides the nocturnal life around her was that of the man in the tent snoring lightly.  
There was that guilt that she'd tried to avoid with Dale. Only it wasn't just guilt from the prospect of waking him. The guilt doubled when she'd remember what she'd done that afternoon. She'd pulled her gun on him and she hadn't even known why. She'd just been so worked up. It had been reflex. The face he'd made when she turned on him was that of a kicked dog.

Well, now she had to wake him up, if only to apologize. There'd be no rest for her as long as she had that dejected mug stuck in her head. She took a deep breath and closed the distance between herself and the tent, not stopping until she realized there was no good way about waking him. There was no door to knock on. She worried around the front of the tent for a moment before crouching down just next to the sealed opening and then she hesitated again.

After she'd stilled for some time before venturing a reach for the zipper, but as she did the flap came open in one clean swoop and she was met by the faint glint of a six inch blade mere inches from her eye. She threw herself backwards, falling out of her crouching position and onto her rear end, scurrying out of striking distance as quickly as she could.

"The_ hell _you doin' skulkin' 'round here this time'a night?" he scolded quietly, "You lost yer damn mind?"  
She sat in the damp grass for a long stretch, panting and blinking at his impossibly blue eyes as they shone with the same small amount of light that the knife's cutlass had a moment ago.

"Well? You gunna sit there an' stare at me like a damn dead fish? Whaddaya wan'?"

She wet her lips and stammered out an answer, "I uh, I came to apologize. For today."

He expelled a derisive snort and finally sheathed his sharp weapon before rolling off the balls of his feet and onto his ass. He backed into the darkness of his nylon shelter.

"Ain't nothin' you gotta apologize for. You ain't the first person to pull a gun on me. Seems t'be everyone's new favorite game 'round here."

"No," she began, "I was too worked up and I took it out on ya with no good reason…I just…"

She grasped in her mind for a way to explain to him what she wanted to say when she heard let out a crestfallen puff and his voice was gravely and low as he muttered his reply, "Naw, you had good reason. You were pissed. An' everythin' you said to those assholes was fuckin' true… 'S aw'right…Jus' don' do it again, or you might just find m'bow in your face."  
They both allowed themselves a small chuckle at his half-empty threat before growing silent. When he spoke again, she was taken aback at what he'd said.

"So you gunna sit out there all night and let the cold in, or what?"

She paused, trying to decide whether that had been an invite into his shelter, or if he'd just told her to_ amscray_. She'd decided to go out on a limb and crawled into the tent. When she set herself down next to him, she felt him shrink back as if she were a snake coiled and ready to strike him and she immediately felt as though she'd guess wrong and over-stepped her boundaries, literally. She went to turn tail and head for the hills when he leaned across her and reached for the zipper and closed the flap.

"I got it. Sticks sometimes." He mumbled. In that instant she felt both giddy and claustrophobic. He settled back down in his place, bringing one leg up to his chest and leaning his elbow over top his bent knee. They sat in awkward silence again for a while and she busied her eyes by examining a small hole in the leg of her cargo pants, despite not being able to see anything in the darkness of the tent anyway. When she chanced a look in his direction, she could see his shadowed figure rubbing at his scruffy chin with his knuckles. A second later he spoke, voice unnaturally soft and timid.

"Wha'chu said 'bout Merle n' me today…Ain't nobody ever stuck up for us 'fore…'Cept each other. Even then we weren't all too good at it."

"Shane's a dick." She said firmly. He nodded solemnly, "…Thank you."

Her only response was a slight shrug that, in the back of her mind, she knew probably wouldn't register to him in the blackness. She followed it up with a question a beat later.

"Ya didn't let that thing that Carl said cut ya too deep, did ya?"

The form next to her drew in a deep breath and exhaled it one syllable, "Dunno."

"Ya did what ya hadda. Don't second guess yaself…Like Rick said, ya 'did it to keep us safe'. Not because you're a fuckin' creep. Not because ya wanted to."

"…Maybe I did." He murmured somberly.

She suddenly felt overly uncomfortable, but not because of his admission. It was like she felt she was intruding again. Like this quiet, melancholy Daryl was something she wasn't meant to see. She was at a loss, so she awkwardly just wrapped him on the arm as if to say, "_Cut it out, will ya?"_

__Yet another pause and the cumbersome moment hadn't dissipated.  
"I should get goin'. Both of us should get to sleep…I'm sure tomorrow's gunna be another interesting day." She fretted.

"I ain't lettin' you walk all the way back across the field without a weapon," His voice had suddenly recovered all of its usual forcefulness as he insisted, "Why the hell you walkin' around out there unarmed?"

She felt for her shoulder holster and realized she'd forgotten to put it on in her rush to leave the RV.

"Fuck." She said. He scooted over a bit and made as much room as he could.

"Here. Lay down." He said, tossing his single pillow over to the spot he'd meant for her to take.

"I'm not gunna take ya only pillow."

"…Maybe I _should_ toss your ass back out there and let them walkers getchu." He said firmly, "I don' need it. Take the damn thing."

_Well, then._

She swallowed the lump in her throat and crawled over to the opposite side of the tent. When she was in the spot he intended for her to take, she slid down and laid flat on her back. He made no motion to move, however.

"Aren't ya goin' back to bed, too?" she asked. She heard him scratch at the tawny colored hair on his head for a second, hesitating.

"Yeah." he finally whispered, shifting his weight and resting his body next to her in the same position. The silence between them was thick for a while until he spoke again, many minutes later. His tone was normal. Lighter. Joking.

"Why's that dumbass accent a'yours get bigger when you get all rile'dup?" he teased, feigning annoyance. She snickered, elbowing him in the shoulder.  
"G'night, Daryl."

"…Night."

* * *

The soft palaver of the mourning doves caused her to stir. She unburied her face from the soft cushion she had been nuzzled into, lifting her eyes to blink at the dull predawn glow that was barely making its way through the thin material of the tent. The first thing she became aware of was that she was warm despite the crisp early autumn air she was inhaling. She then realized there was a dead weight covering the length of her back. Her barely conscious mind confused, she stirred, craning her neck, she brought her sleepy eyes to look at the mass that lightly held her pinned.

She was met by the image of his closed eyes mere inches from her own face. Apparently in his sleep, he'd decided that he had, in fact, needed the pillow and had nestled up alongside of her, draping half his body over hers. She stilled her breath, afraid she would wake him and he would pull away, both literally and figuratively. She closed her eyes again, forcing the small grin from her lips, and enjoyed the warmth that surrounded her…Until she realized he was on her arm, and it was painfully asleep.

She absolutely needed to move. She gave her limp appendage an experimental tug in an attempt to gauge the depths at which sleep had held him. When he didn't rouse, she began tugging it out from under him lightly. A low, sleepy moan escaped from his throat and he tightened his grasp on her waist. She watched, horrified and embarrassed, as his eyes drifted open. It obviously took him a minute to realize what was going on and how it came to be. His eyes went wide and he slowly and deliberately unraveled their twined limbs, making that same face he'd made last night when she'd first made her way into the tent.

"I'm uh, I-" He struggled as he pushed himself into a sitting position. She crawled into a kneeling position and tried to hide how she was flexing her wrist to force the blood flow back into her hand.

"You're fine," she said throatily, "It's cold this morning." He grunted, averting his eyes and scratching at the back of his head. If commuter buses still operated in this world, she would have left to find one to toss herself in front of. She'd have to remember to kick Andrea's ass later on for starting this whole mess by putting the thought in her head.

"I gotta go start my rounds." she said hurriedly, pulling the hood back up over her head and fisting the sleeves down over her hands. She moved to unzip the exit when he stilled her by placing a hand on her booted foot and crowded next to her, fumbling with the opening's pull.

"…See. Gets stuck." He muttered.

She looked up at him as he fought silently with the closure, and his eyes ventured a transient glance in her direction. With that sideways look, something suddenly surged through her.

"Daryl…" she breathed.  
He turned and stared for what seemed like ages. When his azure eyes moved from her hazels, she felt them land on her lips.

"…I'll go with you…To the RV, I mean. Still don' need to be walkin' 'round without any kinda weapon." He said as he began unzipping the flap. The material fell away and he stepped past her, crossbow in hand, into the misty autumn morning, and with the all-weather nylon of the tent's hatch, so fell her hopes. She climbed out after him, not saying another word.

They made their way across the field in silence. She'd approximated that they'd about reached the original camp when she heard him let out a sharp whistle, giving whoever was supposed to be on watch a heads up to their approach, knowing they wouldn't be visible from a distance because of the fog. He was answered by another whistle.  
When the faint outline of the RV was only barely visible, she felt a warmth fall onto the small of her back. His hand. Before she could turn to him, he leaned into her ear.  
"Get goin'." He whispered. His hand lingered on her back, however, hinting that he was conflicted.  
She pulled away, finishing her walk alone, and collapsing against the door of the RV once inside.


	16. Chapter 16

**By far the longest chapter I've written. All from Daryl's POV. I'd like to say that without certain videos on Youtube, I'd be lost as hell. I can't download any of the episodes, so I'm winging it over here, dialoge-wise. Going from memory, what little bits and pieces of scenes I can find on Youtube, and the rest I've just pulled out my ass and slapped down for you to read. So yeah, I apologize if some important words/phrases are left out. I'M DOING MY BEST3**

**This is THAT chapter. The sad one.**

**For some reason, I feel like the quality of this chapter is below normal. I don't know. Maybe it's because I'm tired as hell again(I *accidently* a bar fight last night and I have bad sunburn on my chest from walking around in the sun this afternoon. OOPS.), so my brain is all over the place right now. So, apologies.**

**To everyone who has been reading, reviewing, and adding me to their *favorites* and alerts lists...ILU. You have no idea what it means to get a dumb email while I'm at work telling me that you've enjoyed what you've read. I love it. It makes my day. So keep 'em comin'.**

This next chapter is the Big Kahuna. There's gunna be more story line changes to make things fit together seamlessly. After that, we're going off a a whole new adventure. Until then, enjoy my lovelies.

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He'd gone immediately to the barn to relieve that prick, Shane, not because he'd known the man had been out there guarding their prisoner all night, but because he needed something to take his mind off of whatever it was that'd just happened. It'd worked for a little while. But while trying to beat some more information out of him, he thought back to what Carl had said and he became disgusted with himself. …And then what Rick had said. It was for the group. The other man's words resolve, holding firm to his chilling façade until it paid off again.

The group of survivors that he'd run with was massive. That coupled with the fact that they knew these people had itchy trigger fingers, and the stories he'd dragged out of him yesterday; the weapons, the rape…They'd never stand a chance if these people found them.

Two hours after he'd entered, he'd left Randall in a bloody, crying heap and made his way up to the camp, knowing that he needed to relay the information he'd gathered by force. The thick fog that hung in the air at dawn had dissipated, and saw that Rick was crossing from the camp to the house's porch. He called to him and told him what he'd learned, and Rick's already drawn, troubled expression sank further into hopelessness.

They talked of what needed to be done. Daryl honestly didn't care what was done with him. They could set the son of a bitch on fire, tossed him off a bridge, or drove him six-hundred miles away. He was just sick of the whole situation and the potential for trouble. He just knew that it needed to be dealt with, once and for all.

Rick summoned Shane over, and Shane agreed immediately. It was for the good of their people. Letting Randall go would be shooting themselves in the foot. All they could do is take him out and hope to hell these assholes never found them.

Daryl walked off after their talked ended, heading to the house to clean himself up. He wouldn't face the group covered in Randall's blood again. When he left the house, he'd crested the knoll that the camp and the big tree sat upon to see that Rick and Shane had gathered the entire group and was now addressing them. He came upon the group, Rick's clear, steady voice in mid-sentence, "…because of what we've learned. We need to eliminate the threat."

"Your boy in there's got a gang. Thirty men. An' they ain't lookin' to make friends." Daryl added ominously.

For a split second Daryl just looked around, studying everyone's reactions. Pru, wasn't among the gathering. He wasn't surprised. The only one who'd spoken up immediately was Dale, who was adamant that they come up with a better plan. For the most part, however, everyone seemed to be, at the very least, reluctantly on board with what they'd decided.

Dale continued to make an attempt at rallying some support for his side of the argument, but Rick, with a foreign firm voice that had even Daryl bowled over, declared, "It's settled! We'll do it today."

"You just can't decide on your own to take someone's life, Rick! There's got to be a process! This isn't right!...Let's think about this for a while. Let's _all_ think about this!" Dale yawped.

Rick's eyes fell to the group's father-figure, considering for a moment, then looked around at the others, trying to find a solution to their problem in each person's eyes.

"…We reconvene at sunset and what happens, happens."

The troubled man stalked away, leaving the rest of the group to ruminate. No one spoke then, nor had they for a long time after. Most left the area to begin the day's chores. Some milled around camp, cleaning, preparing the next meal. Daryl watched Dale had gone off somewhere alone. He imagined he'd get stuck with taking over his watch duty up on the broad roof of the RV.

Before being saddled with that task, he'd need some sort of sustenance, though he wasn't really up for eating. He'd sat down in one of the canvas folding chairs by the fire, and as if she'd read his mind, Carol came to him with a plate full of canned potatoes, Spam, and what he'd assumed was applesauce, followed by a mug full of instant coffee. It would do.

"Thanks." He grunted. She forced a small smile as he took the offered plate, before bending to stoke the fire. A few minutes had passed as he forced the alleged food down in silence.

"She didn't come have breakfast." She said, as if he'd asked her a question. He stopped chewing and looked up at her, an eyebrow cocked in confusion.  
"Who?" he asked swallowing his last bite. He'd attempted to feign ignorance with the question, but he knew exactly who she was talking about, and the fact that she was trying to be coy about it bothered the living hell out of him. He heard the tone of his own voice and kicked himself.

"Pru. She didn't come to breakfast." She reiterated.

"Yeah, so?" he asked, becoming more annoyed.

"Just figured you might want to know." She shrugged.

Suddenly he'd realized Lori was still there, just across from him, pretending to tidy up the site. He'd noticed that she was watching him out of the corner of her eye as she gathered a few cups and utensils off the picnic table. He looked back and forth from both of them a few times, incredulous.

It was a damn ambush. _Sneaky fuckin' harpies._

"Why the hell would I give a rat's ass where she was?" he snapped, going back to his original plan of denial. Carol chuckled derisively at his question, "I don't know. You're both awfully chummy lately, is all."  
_That_ did it. He stood, setting the plate down.

"Awright. What the hell is this horseshit? You two got something to say, _say it_. Otherwise, lemme eat mah damn meal in peace."

"We just think she was a bit out of line yesterday, is all. I think you should ask her to apologize to Carl." Lori finally spoke up from the spot across the fire. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. What was more, he couldn't believe he was being dragged into it. This was why his daddy and Merle never kept women around for more than a few days. They were nothing but trouble.

"Man, don' come to me with this bullshit!" he spat, "You got somethin' to say to 'er, you go find 'er an' say it yerself! Ain't none'a mah business what's been said 'tween you an' her…An' it ain't none'a your's either." He fixed Carol with a steely glare before turning to reach for his crossbow, which he'd propped up against his chair.

Then he hesitated. He thought about what Pru had said yesterday. How she'd come to he and Merle's defense. He set his jaw, feeling now as if he was obligated to do her the same courtesy. He grabbed his bow up, slinging it over his denim clad shoulder, and turned back to the women.

"…If ya want mah opinion, though, that girl ain't gotta apologize to the kid or you for a damn thing…Where's Carl right now, Lori?"

His barbed question hit her hard and visibly sent her reeling. She gazed around, wide-eyed. Carol looked to Lori, her eyes, too, questioning the woman.  
"Yep." He snorted. He turned on his heel with a smirk of both satisfaction and disgust on his lips, and wandered off to ascend the rusty ladder of the RV.

Much later in the day, he'd gone back to his camp after Andrea had relieved him. He milled around for a few hours, trying to occupy his thoughts with anything other than...Well, everything the day had wrought. Between waking this morning to his body tucked around Pru's, the information he'd beat out of Randall, the execution that lay ahead, Dale's moral outcry, and being side-swiped by Lori and Carol, of all people, his head was spinning. A few hours alone to come down from all of it, he figured, was the only thing that was going to keep his head on straight.

He'd set himself to maintaining his camp and tidying up, first. He'd then decided to give Merle's beloved motorcycle a once over to make sure it was in working order. He'd started her up, run to the RV to grab some of Dale's tools so he could fiddle with it, and then went through the saddlebags to take a mental inventory of the belongings inside.

_Three shirts. Change of pants. A pair of useless boxers that the elastic was no longer good in. Whetstone. Switchblade. Merle's drugs. Multi-tool. A few boxes of bolts. An extra clip for the gun… Gun?_

…Where the fuck was his gun? He barely ever used the thing, preferring his silent crossbow to the noisy firearm, but he knew where he'd left it. It was always in one of three places. Here in the leather compartment on the bike, underneath the pillow in his tent, or tucked away in his waistband. He checked the tent next, despite knowing for a fact that it wasn't there because he'd moved he pillow so Pru could use it as she slept. Not there. Nor was it lost underneath the wadded up sleeping bag.

Had he lent it to someone and forgot about it? He found that doubtful, seeing as how he wasn't ever really too good at sharing. He'd remember handing such a precious item off to someone.

After searching for some time, he'd decided that he'd either left it in the barn after remembering distinctly that he'd pistol whipped Randall the other night, or that it was lost…Which would have been horrendous. Firearms were not easy to come by, and were worth more than anything nowadays. He cursed himself for being so careless. Something else to fucking worry about. There was no winning today.

As the sun began to creep towards the land in the distance, he set himself to the task of fashioning some more bolts from the sturdy branches of the trees that lined his camp. He'd made a whole clutch, figuring now, since Pru could use them, too, they'd need as many as they could get.  
As he'd just finished up, he heard a rustling to his right. He looked up to see Dale, rifle slung from his shoulder, meandering his way toward him. Daryl exhaled in exasperation.

"Whole point'a me comin' up here was to get away from you people." He complained.

"I wanted to talk to you about this whole Randall situation." Dale prefaced.

"Here we go." Daryl said to himself, not quite under his breath.

"Are you really willing to let this happen? An innocent man put to death? You really think this is what's best for the group?" the older man asked.

Daryl's ever-present scowl deepened at the wording of Dale's question. "I dunno how innocent he is. He said some pretty fucked up shit."

"He hasn't killed anyone, though." Dale pressed.

"Not yet," Daryl said as he shrugged, eyes running one of his new arrows before bending to fit it into the quiver. Dale sighed.

"…Doesn't matter what happens anyways. This group's broken."

"You're acting like you don't care."

"Yeah, that's cuz I don'." He said, reaching for his denim and leathers, pulling them on over his taught arms.

"You don't care what happens to Randall?" Dale queried, as if he'd seen his opening. He was really starting to push his last nerve.

"Nope." He answered defiantly.

"Then why not stand with me?" Dale coached.

"Didn't peg you for a desperate sumbitch." he answered contemptibly, stooping once again to pick up a few more arrows and his leg quiver.

"Daryl," Dale began as he approached him. His voice was now choked with frustration as he pleaded with the huntsman, "You're a good man. The people in this group respect you. Your opinion matters to them…You could help sway this!"

Daryl stared at his desperate friend for a moment, growing weary and angry at his insistence. He shook his. He was done with this conversation. "It doesn't matter. S'like I said. This group's broken."

He stormed off, leaving the forlorn Dale behind. If he couldn't have any peace in his own camp, he'd go find someone who wouldn't run their mouth and prod him for support. He didn't know where she was, but he had an idea. He walked through the wide expanse of pasture out to the stables.

When he strode through the wide door frame, he saw her there, brushing out the horse she spent most of her time with. She looked up at him as he wandered over, her hand stilling on the horse's back.

"Hey." She said quietly. Without saying anything, he held out his hand to her, presenting her with the full quiver.  
"What's this?" she asked. She looked suspicious and puzzled.

"Seein' as how you can use arrows with yer sling now. Figured, yanno…You could use it." She looked from him to the object that was now in her hand and then back up to him.

"Thanks." She smiled. He pursed his lips and nodded. He tried to force an actual '_You're welcome'_ from his vocal cords, but no dice. The words caught in his throat and stuck there. He watched as she unbuckled the clasps and tried fitting it around her thigh. She struggled with it for a bit before he bent to help her adjust the new accessory without thinking. He had already tightened the nylon strap around her thigh before it dawned on him what he was doing. His face flushed. He felt it, and he knew she'd see it. He bowed his head as he stood to hide it, and crossed one arm over his chest, bringing the other hand to his mouth, chewing at his thumbnail.

"You uh, gotta keep it tight. Otherwise it'll fall all kattywompus." He mumbled. She cocked an eyebrow at him.

"…Kattywompus?" she snickered.

He lifted his eyes to meet hers without moving his head, questioning. Then he realized he'd let slip the Southern colloquialism.

"Man, shut up." Embarrassed, he fought to clip the small smile from his own face. She shook her head at him still smiling at him.

"Here, ya hillbilly," she said digging in one of the cargo pockets, "I'm not givin' this thing back to the kid." She passed him her spare slingshot. He looked it over in his hands.

"You sure?" he asked, eyes still downcast. "What if yours breaks of somthin'?"

"Well then I'll take it back." She bargained, soft expression still on her face. He looked up to her pointing the object in her face.

"Indian giver." He accused playfully as he tucked the new weapon in his waistband. If that gun didn't turn up, this would definitely soften the blow. She scoffed at his allegation, finally turning back to the horse.

They both stood for a minute, quiet overtaking the lofty room. The happy mood soon faded however, when he opened his mouth again in order to tell her of the latest developments. His eyes grew stormy and when he spoke, the mirth gone from his voice.

"We're doin' Randall in tonight." He muttered voice gravely as ever. She whipped her head to him, obviously surprised by the information. She looked him over once before settling her gaze back on her task of brushing.

"It's about damn time," She said her voice cold. He swallowed.

"Yeah, well, not everyone's too happy 'bout it." She looked to him again, questioning.

"Dale." He'd relinquished. She closed her eyes and nodded as if to say, _'Who else would it be?'_

"Rick wants everyone up at the house in a bit. Final…Discussion on it, I reckon."  
She nodded. "Alright. Just…I'll finish up here."

A while later, they both found themselves in the living room, milling around with the rest of them. Everyone was quiet. Pru, he'd noticed, was visibly uneasy and was earning glares from Lori. She averted her gaze, bouncing her leg restlessly and chewing at her cheek, trying her best to keep her mouth shut. He looked to Carol, who stood behind him, back to the wall. She sighed and worried at her bottom lip, looking sad and apologetic, as if she wanted to say something to him. He was starting to get angry about all the tension in the room when Rick walked through the door.

The conversation was basically a replay of what had been said that morning. Rick spoke of what Daryl had learned from Randall about his former group, and he told everyone what they were planning on doing, just minutes from now. Dale pled Randall's case to the ears of the jury gathered in the formal parlor. Rick made it clear that this was the only solution he could come up with and that it needed to be dealt with, sooner rather than later.

Dale then went around the room, pressing everyone for their personal input. Some for the decision, others opting to take themselves out of the vote. It was maddening to sit and listen as Dale confronted each of them. Daryl wanted to throw his arms off and retreat to the barn to just end it already. No progress was being made. The same points were being brought up over and over again until Andrea ended up being the only one to side with him. Finally, he turned to the dark haired girl on the couch just in front of Rick.

"Pru?" he asked desperately, "Surely you…You've got to be against this!" he implored.

She shook her head. Daryl couldn't see her face as she addressed Dale, her back to him, voice barely audible when she spoke.

"Dale," she began voice a pained whisper, "I wish I could say I was…But, there's too big a risk involved. It's the way it's gotta be, hon."

He shook his head in disbelief and an angry expression manifested on his face.

"Well, then you're a hypocrite." He hissed, "You spoke out yesterday against torture and…And suffering! And today you're throwing your hat in the ring with everyone else? This is just…This is _insanity_."

Daryl a bit bristled at that, but opted to keep his mouth shut. Pru was a big girl, after all. A big girl with a big mouth. She'd take care of this herself.

"Dale," she said again, "This, what they're about to do, this is to _prevent_ sufferin'! If he makes his way back to that other group, we're all fucked! …Dead or worse. Do we need to gamble our own safety away on a heads or fuckin' tails?" she argued, arms gesturing wildly now.

"…I lost one sister already. I won't lose another!" she exclaimed, pointing towards Andrea. "…If it comes down to a choice between him or _anyone_ in this group, I choose the group, Dale. I choose _our lives _over _his_. "

Daryl heard her sniffle and her breath hitched a beat later. She was crying now. Dale snarled, trying to hold back his own tears of frustration and shook his head at her in disgust. With that, she'd turned from the room and stormed out onto the porch allowing the door to slam behind her.

After he searched the room one final time with his sad eyes, Dale too, went to exit the house, but not before stopping in front of Daryl.

"You're right, " he said, laying a hand on Daryl's shoulder, "This group is broken."

When Daryl stepped out onto the porch, he came to stand next to her as she sat on the railing that ran the length of the porch, picking away at the white weathered paint. She wiped at her red rimmed eyes. He said nothing. He had no intention of trying to comfort her, knowing full well that he'd fail miserably. The other members of the group filtered out of the house and ran off to other areas of the farm. He expected they'd all try to go about their evenings as if nothing different was happening, thankful that they weren't going to be a part of what was about to take place inside the old barn.

A beleaguered looking Rick appeared in the door, followed by his wife, and then finally, Shane. The five of them exchanged no words or glances for a spell. Rick then wrapped an arm around Lori, kissing the top of her head, as if to gather strength from her closeness. Rick nodded to Daryl, signaling that he was ready to get this over with, and Daryl stood, drawing in a long breath. Pru moved from her perch on the old banister, just in front of him. He shot a confused scowl at the back of her head, and he looked up to see that Rick and Shane, too, were both questioning her with their eyes.

"One to pull the trigger. Two to take care of the body. One to clean up the mess." She explained simply wiping at her eyes again. Lori looked to her in that instant with disdain, and even though Rick couldn't see her face, he laid a hand on her shoulder, to still her tongue. He drew a breath and nodded to her, too, and Daryl could see what he thought to be appreciation in the cop's eyes. With that, the four of them walked off the porch and headed for the barn.

When they opened the door to the stall that Randall was being held in, his head shot up. Daryl noted how the young man's eyes drew wide when he looked upon their four figures as if they were the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, there in the flesh. It was like the kid knew exactly what they were there to do. It was uncanny. Randall struggled against his restraints, making the angry marks around his wrists break open and bleed. Daryl and Shane moved forward in tandem to take hold of him and free him from the spot on the wall to which he'd been bound.

"Wh-What's goin' on? What are you gunna do?" Randall asked frantically. Rick stepped back, drawing his gun from the holster at his hip, and Pru, to his left, moved back as well, giving the others space to drag the captive out of the stall. When he saw Rick pull his gun, he started begging and crying.

They'd placed him on his knees, and stepped back. Daryl couldn't stand the pitiful look on the kid's face. Pru's apparent clairvoyance kicking in, she handed him a handkerchief from her pocket, so he could tie the cloth around his eyes. The kid was blubbering now. Daryl just wanted to be done with it.  
Rick cocked the gun and held it out in front of him. "Do you have any last words?" he asked, voice dark.  
"Please…Please don't…Please!" Randall sobbed.

Suddenly, from behind him, Daryl heard a small voice.

"Do it, Dad. Do it." Carl assured.

Rick's eyes snapped to his young son, who was standing in the open doorway of the barn, glaring at their prisoner. The former officer was shaken. Daryl could see it as he glanced to him. He felt Shane leave his side and storm back to the place where the child stood. He heard him scolding Carl as he looked from Rick to Pru, and then down to Randall.

"Take him away…" Rick said shakily. It took a moment for Daryl to process the order, though he knew exactly what was happening. He and Pru moved forward from each side and grabbed one arm each, dragging the crying man back into the old stall.

When they immerged after affixing him back to his spot on the floor by the wall, the barn was empty and quiet again. Daryl felt her glance at him so he brought his eyes to meet hers. He shrugged, not knowing what else to say or do.

"I'll stay. Keep watch. I don't really feel like being around people right now." She said. He nodded, upset that he hadn't thought of stepping up for the same reason. Turning, he walked out of the barn into the crisp evening air.

__He'd wandered the grounds aimlessly for over an hour. Too restless to sit still, too tired to set himself to any kind of task. This whole day had been just as exhausting as the day he'd impaled himself while searching for Sophia. He cursed under his breath at the groaning ache in his bones as he tromped through the misty field.

The sound of a sharp, startled cry rang out suddenly over the expanse of open farmland. Without hesitation, he began running in the direction of the sound, knowing in his gut there was something wrong. The insistent shouts of a struggle became a pained howl as he neared the source. All he could see was someone pinned underneath a walker. He was almost on top of them when he realized who it was and saw all that blood.

_Dale._

__Seeing the walker stand as it heard the sound of footsteps rushing toward it, Daryl drew back his fist and threw his weight behind it. The walker fell to the ground and he drew his buck knife and plunged it through the head of the abomination that lay sprawled before him.

He turned after drawing the knife back, and he felt his head spin once he saw all the gore. Eviscera hung from Dale's open abdomen as he gasped painfully for air. The fucker had torn him open from sternum to navel. He snarled at the sight. He wanted to tear the body that laid behind him to pieces with his bare hands. He looked up and saw the glare of multiple flashlights bouncing in the field as the rest of the group closed in.

"Hey!" he belted voice cracking slightly as he waved his arms over his head, "We're over here! Hurry up!"

What came out of his mouth next was opposite the rage he was feeling. He bent to speak softly to his fallen friend. "Hang on, buddy."

He wasn't sure if he'd spoken it more for Dale's reassurance or himself

He remembered hearing somewhere, a long time ago, that when bad things happen- car accidents, falls from great heights, or battles during a war- your mind perceives that time is slowing down because the adrenaline released into your body helps you get your footing in the stressful situation. He didn't know if it was true, but it was happening now as the rest of them ran up on the gruesome sight. He heard Rick's voice droning dully somewhere far off, urgently beckoning for Herschel, though he was only standing a few feet from where he knelt over Dale's bloody body.

He saw as Pru came upon the scene, running just behind a stunned Glenn. She'd slipped in the dewy grass and skidded to a halt on her ass. Her eyes, when she realized who everyone was standing over, grew impossibly large. Her mouth moved, but no sound came out. Seconds later, however, her delayed, anguished shriek cut through whatever barrier had been preventing him from hearing clearly and brought time's passage back to its normal pace.

"Noooo!" she bawled. Daryl watched as she crawled forward on her hands and knees, coming to kneel at his side across from Andrea's hunched form.

"Dale! Oh god, Dale. I'm so sorry." She begged, as if apologizing for their argument over Randall earlier in the evening would undo the horrible wounds the man was suffering from. Once Herschel got there, Rick frantically began barking orders.

"We need to move him so Herschel can do the surgery! COME ON!" he yelled. Herschel drew his arm up to still Rick, shaking his head to tell the man what he'd already knew. There was no hope. Even if the walker hadn't scratched or bitten him and the wound had been something else, the damage was far too extensive. He'd never survive his injuries. Not without real doctors. Not in this world. Rick grimaced like he'd been punched in the gut, his denial shattered by Herschel's simple gesture.

The sounds of sobbing became deafening, and Daryl found himself wishing for whatever had hindered his ears from functioning correctly to come back. Dale then groaned loudly, fisting his hands in the grass at his sides.

"He's suffering." Andrea whispered sadly, tears falling from her eyes. He watched as Rick hesitated for a few seconds, gathering the courage to do what needed to be done. He drew his revolver slowly and pointed it downward to Dale's pleading face. Dale's gaze moved to the sky, as if he was signaling Rick that he was ready for him to end it. Rick's face contorted, and for a moment, Daryl thought the man would crumple to the ground and sob. He knew he wouldn't be able to bring himself to do it. Just then, Dale yowled again as the unbearable pain wracked his body.

That was it. It was too much anymore, and Rick was taking too long to put the poor man to rest. He moved forward slowly, arm reaching past Shane, and put his hand over Rick's on the revolver's butt. Rick looked shaken, scared, doleful, and thankful all at once. The haggard sheriff's deputy relinquished the gun easily and stepped back, allowing Daryl room to carry out the heartbreaking task.

As he knelt down before the dying man, they locked eyes one final time. In them, Daryl saw fearful acceptance. He cocked the gun and took aim.  
"Sorry, Brother."

A single shot rang out, and Dale's suffering was finally at an end.


	17. Chapter 17

**Alright, well I may have gone a bit overboard here? haha Longest chapter ever, but I guess it's kinda fitting seeing as all hell breaks loose. Pru's POV. Some of the conversations are borrowed directly from the show, and then...Huge departure from the actual story line. **

**I've been running on fumes while writing this. Because it's summer, work gets kinda insane for me, so to relax, I've been trying to write this. I don't know how good an idea that is, however, seeing as how the quality of the writing could suffer...But I'm doing my best to keep things rolling smoothly.**

**I've also been punishing myself, haha. I haven't allowed myself to keep up with any of the fics that I'm currently engrossed in until I pumped this chapter out. SO EXCUSE ME AS I GO IMMERSE MYSELF IN CARYL LAND FOR UHM, FOREVER.**

**I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. As always, I want to thank you guys for reading and reviewing. Your questions, comments, and critiques are not only welcomed, but LOVED and they all make me smile. So keep them coming, and I promise to keep the story coming for you.3**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own The Walking Dead or anything having to do with it. The characters, script, show, comic, etc. are NOT MINE. And I hate it. Any lines borrowed from the show, are just that- BORROWED. **

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A dull thump pulled her sharply back into the waking world. She sat up quickly, eyes still half closed and slightly puffy from a sobbing herself to sleep in the hours of the early morning. Waking up here in the stables was all the conformation she needed to know that the nightmare that had occurred last night was, in fact, very real. She groped clumsily at the side of her chest to draw her gun from her holster, hearing a shuffling sound outside the stall in which she'd hunkered down, closer to the door. She managed to shake the sleep from her eyes and mind, and crept against the wall to peer out over the wood partition.

She saw Maggie dragging a large bag of feed from stall to stall for the horses. She let out a huge, audible sigh of relief. Maggie spun around at the sound, startled.

"Shit!" she exhaled when she realized who'd been behind her. She brought her hand to her chest, stilling herself. "…You scared me!"

"Yeah, well, you scared me first." Pru returned as she slid, back against the wall to the wood shaving covered floor. She brought her palms to her face and rubbed at her eyes vigorously with the heels of her hands.

"You slept out here?" Maggie asked tentatively. Pru nodded, head still in her hands.

"I really didn't feel like sleeping in there." She said referring to Dale's RV. Maggie nodded, understanding.

"I don't want to say for certain yet, but I think my dad's gunna let everyone move into the house today. It's getting cold real quick and after last night…Well, it's probably not too safe outside anymore."

Pru laughed quietly, drawing her head back up and looked at the younger girl smiling sadly.

"I don't know how excited I am to be trapped in that house with-" she paused, counting on her fingers for a second before giving up, "…a shit-ton of people all winter."

Maggie laughed a bit and nodded. "Better than frostbite."

"Says you." Pru chuckled. Her current standing with certain members of the group, coupled with the fact that she hadn't shared a home with anyone since her Aunt passed away, had her leery of it. She wasn't antisocial by any means, she just enjoyed her space. Sharing that RV with two other people for three weeks had been pretty trying in and of itself…

How could she think about that now, though? Dale had died only a few short hours ago and she was thinking about how annoying it had been to share living space with him and the others? She began crying softly again, disgusted with herself.

Maggie reached over and rubbed her arm, trying to comfort her. Pru immediately tried to get a hold over herself. She sat up straight, sniffed, and wiped at her eyes, sighing, "I gotta to stop this crap. Crying isn't gunna fix anything."

"And pretending it didn't happen will?" Maggie asked softly. Pru ignored her, though she knew she was right. She pulled herself up, dusting the wood shavings from her clothes.

"What time is it?" she asked the other girl absently.

"Early still. Probably around eight, I'd assume." Maggie reported, hoisting herself back to her feet to stand next to Pru.

"When are they…?"

"Soon."

Pru sighed again and nodded, walking out of the stables and towards the house.

The camp seemed almost deserted. She assumed everyone had slept in after the long, emotional night. After Daryl had pulled the trigger, the sounds of sobs that had already filled the night air grew louder and more pained. Rick, overcome, had stumbled in place for a moment, and ultimately had to sit down in the grass of the pasture beside Dale's prone, lifeless form. The man hadn't cried over the loss of his good friend, he only stared at his body in disbelief for almost as long as Pru had sat there.

She knelt in the grass next to the body crying silently for a long while. Andrea mirrored her position and emotions across from her. Two sisters mourning over their adoptive father. At some point, Daryl had come up behind her, reaching down to grab her by her upper arm.

"C'mon," he husked, "Y'all can't sit out here all night. We gotta move 'em." He all but lifted her off her feet and carried her to the cab of the waiting truck. It was then she'd realized that she and Andrea had been the only ones left out there, besides T-Dog, who had obviously stayed to keep a watchful eye while Daryl went to collect the truck and a few necessities.

Daryl opened the driver's side door and helped her in. On the other side of the truck, T-Dog was doing the same for a trembling Andrea. Both women sat in the truck for a bit while the men tended to Dale's body. She watched in the rearview as Daryl spread a clean, floral sheet that had been taken from the house, across the bed of the pickup. They then bent, together, to heft the dead weight of Dale's corpse up onto the waiting sheet. She saw Daryl hesitate for a moment before grabbing a towel, folding it in half, and carefully laying it across the man's torn abdomen. He then drew up the sheet around the body, wrapping it head-to-toe, before finally binding it with twine to keep it in place. When they were done, T-Dog climbed in the back with the body and Daryl moved around to the cab, hopping in and starting the engine.

They drove up to the barn, where the men got out again, hoisting the body from the back and carrying it into the barn, where it would stay until the burial the next morning. She suddenly came too, wondering why she was still in the truck. She wasn't contributing and she felt fucking useless. She pushed her way out of the cab, walking around the truck and up to the barn as if she was operating on auto-pilot. She picked up a shovel and moved to the space not far off from the barn, to what she knew was their makeshift cemetery, just as Daryl and T-Dog were locking the barn back up.

"Pru?" T-Dog called, "What are you doin'?"

"What's it look like?" she bit out, back to them as she shuffled over to the spot she intended to excavate. She heard footsteps quicken their pace behind her and suddenly Daryl was in front of her.

"You ain't in any shape for that right now. We'll take care'a it in the mornin'." Daryl said, reaching for the heavy shovel. She yanked it away from him, sneering, hoping he'd back off. He sighed, and she could tell he was biting back some sort of comment as he moved for it again. Only this time when he grabbed at the handle, it was with way more force than her weak body could counter.

"G'on. You need'a rest." He said letting the shovel fall to the gravel and dust behind him. She wanted to scream at him. Tear that ruggedly handsome mug of his from his skull. Instead, she found herself conceding to him and skulking off like a beaten dog feeling his eyes on her the entire way across the field.

Now, as she crossed the same area again, back in that direction, she could smell the acrid stench of rotting flesh on fire and she could see Glenn and Rick digging out the grave. Shane, Daryl, Andrea, and T-Dog were a ways off behind them tossing bodies onto the pyre. Where had those come from?

She walked to the pit Rick and Glenn were standing in. The men stopped their work for a moment. Glenn looked up and mouthed a silent 'hey' to her. She returned it before looking to Rick.

"What happened?" she asked nodding to where the others stood around the fire. He turned to take in the sight.

"Catharsis, I s'pose. I dunno if any of them slept much, if at all. When I got up they were just getting' back. Couple walkers out in the east pasture…Took another cow down." He said robotically.

"Fuck." She said kicking at the dirt. "I shoulda been out there with them."

He shook his head. "No, it's good you got some rest. We can't have everyone dead on their fee-" he trailed off, kicking himself at his phrasing. She leaned down, patting the poor man on the shoulder.

"Stop. If I'm not allowed to beat myself up, neither are you, man." She ordered warmly, a sad smile on her lips. He nodded.

"Is there anything I can do?" she asked.

"Nah. Not just now…Glenn and I will be finished an about an hour or so. We'll try to let everyone rest for a bit and then we'll lay him to rest." He explained.

"Okay." She said quietly. She stood and walked back up the way she came from. Half way to the stable, she was struck with the sudden want for a shower, so she turned and went to the RV. She faltered at the door for a moment before pushing inside and grabbing her bag with. When she reached the house, she ran into Maggie again. Beth was right behind her, holding onto a small basket of laundry.

"If anyone needs me, I'll be in the shower." Pru said stepping onto the staircase.

"Wait, Pru." Beth called as she set the basket down and moved to climb the steps in front of her, "I have a jacket for you."

"Beth, I have a hoodie, you don't have to-"

Maggie cut her off. "That hoodie isn't enough, especially if you're out there on that horse as much as you are. We both know that."

Pru sighed and looked back up to Beth, who smiled before leading her up the rest of the way and into her bedroom. Pru sat down on the bed, bouncing once to test its softness, as Beth went to the closet. She disappeared for a second, her voice muffled as she spoke.

"Our Aunt from Chicago sent me this for Christmas two years ago. It's really nice, but it wasn't sometime I was ever gunna wear…Not my style, I guess.."

When Beth reappeared from the depths of the closet, she had a jacket draped over her arm. It was the color of green army fatigues and the hood, as well as the rest of the jacket, looked to be lined with wool. It looked warm. She held it up and Pru could see the cropped waist, the belt around it, and some kind of strange metal cuffs that circled the wrists. She could also see the tag dangling from the arm. This coat was fucking expensive.

"Beth, I can't take that thing." She said putting her hands up in front of her.

"I have another coat. What am I gunna do with two?...Especially when you don't have one. Please, take it." Beth said pushing the thing into her arms. Pru looked down at the thing and then back up to Beth.

"Thanks." She smiled. Beth nodded and walked out of the room, leaving Pru to shower in her bathroom.

After her shower, she went right to the task she'd planned before. The new jacket would protect her against the unseasonably cool afternoon as she trotted the horse out through the fields. She found that, for some reason, they'd collected the bodies of all the walkers from the morning, but not the dead cow's carcass. She hopped down and lashed a rope around the dead animal's legs in in order to tow it back to the barn so it could be burnt as well.

As she stood, she looked up over the hill, just past the small pond that Herschel's cattle drank from. She saw a figure cresting the roll of the land in the distance, but couldn't make out who it was right away. She strained her eyes for a moment trying to figure out who it was walking over.

…Shambling over. Another walker. Shit.

She drew one of her guns from the holster and closed the nearly football field size distance between them. As she neared, she could see that it was a woman a bit younger than she, one arm missing and most of her scalp was gone. When she was in range, she stopped and took aim, but something in her made her wait. She watched, wrapt in a sort of fascinated horror, until it was almost on top of her. She watched it move, stiff gait causing it to stumble with almost every step, and she heard its jaw snapping shut viciously, making her wonder, in the back of her head, how the dead thing's musculature was still allowing for that much force in that state of decomposition. The thing gurgled a growl that snapped her back to reality and she squeezed the trigger, sending the thing sprawling.

She kept her gun drawn as she walked up the small hill that the walker had come over. Nothing. It was the only one. Kind of. But a handful of walkers in three days after weeks of not one set her stomach into a spin of foreboding. She trudged back to the mount, climbing back into the saddle and made her way back to the barn to dump the cow's carcass on the pyre.

As she dragged the thing back, she saw Rick, Daryl, and Herschel standing by the fire. The flames had died down a bit, most of what they'd thrown into it already ashes.

"Nice job on leaving the buffet table out, man." She called, getting their attention. Rick walked to her as she hopped down from the horse, who she'd kept a safe distance from the flames.

"There was another just now. Same spot. I took it out, but I didn't wanna chance dragging it back and leaving a trail of filth if it broke apart on me."

The other two men moved in upon hearing that, wanting to know more.

"Another?" Rick asked, "You sure?"

"No, I hallucinated it, honey." She said managing to crack a small, sarcastic smile. She heard Daryl snort, but didn't look his way.

"Not good." Rick said staring down at his feet.

"Nope." She agreed, turning to untie the rope from the horn of the saddle. She gathered up the rope in her hands and gave it a tug, waiting for the men to help her drag the four hundred pound calf over to be burnt. No one made a move, still trying to process the very real problem they may be facing.

"I was always under the impression that you 'Southern Gentlemen' lept at the chance to help a girl out." She quipped. That got them moving. The four of them grabbed up the rope and towed the dead animal the short distance to the fire and heaved it in, as best they could. They watched it burn for a bit before she slapped at Daryl's shoulder amicably. He knew what she meant without saying it, and the two walked off to the truck to retrieve the body of the last walker. Neither said anything to the other until they got up to the area the body was left. After tossing it in the back of the truck, he looked over to her as he brushed his filthy hands off on his pants.

"So you good?" he asked her quietly. She turned to him, considering for a moment.

"I'm not dead and I'm not cryin', so…" she shrugged, hopping in the truck. She knew he wasn't going to know how to reply to that, so she didn't wait for one.

Upon returning to the farm, they found it was time for the funeral. They dumped the walker's body into the fire as the rest of them gathered. Rick, Glenn, and T-Dog went into the barn to retrieve the shell of their friend, carrying it gently and respectfully, eventually settling it into the shallow grave. The three of them made short work of the burial, and as they finished, Pru could see Rick stepping his back, trying to clear his mind.

Rick read his eulogy. What words she could hear beyond her noisy mind were poignant. As she stood, linked arm and arm with Andrea, he spoke of healing and of fixing severed ties among the group.

"He said this group is broken…We're not broken. We're gunna prove him wrong."

She looked to Lori, holding her young son close as he cried.

Then she looked to Shane who was staring at his feet.

She closed her eyes at his words. Rick was right. The tumult among the group, as of late, had grown out of hand and it was high time it was laid to rest. They needed to work together if they were to make it through the months and hopefully, years to come. She vowed in that moment, to herself and to Dale, wherever he was, that she would strive to mend the fissures and stop new ones before they started.

Before she knew it, it was over. She looked to Andrea who squeezed her hand tightly before walking away. She watched her go, and as she turned she noticed Daryl out of the corner of her eye, realizing he'd been directly behind them the entire funeral. He chewed the inside of his cheek and moved to leave before Carol stepped in front of him, holding out a hand.

"I- I want to apologize," she began before turning her gaze to Pru, as well "...To both of you."

Her brow furrowed in confusion. What had Carol done that she wanted to apologize for?

"Daryl, I was rude and out of line yesterday. You're both right about Lori…And Pru, you're right about Carl. The path that boy's heading down is a dark one, and I saw it for the first time yesterday." Carol shuddered. Pru didn't know what to say, still not completely understanding what the other woman was talking about. Apparently, she thought, Rick's speech hadn't only struck her. She looked to Daryl who had the slightest touch of red on his cheeks. What the hell was going on?

"Don' worry 'bout it. It's done. " he muttered.

"Really. Will you both forgi-"

"I said it's done, woman. Good god. Why do I gotta repeat myself to everyone twenty damn times?" he snapped, though it was only half-hearted. She pursed her lips and shook her head before turning to walk away.

"…What was that about?" Pru asked him when she was sure Carol was out of earshot.

"How am I s'posed to know?" he said angrily as he began walking away. She followed him, catching up to put a hand on his arm.

"Well it was obviously something, if you accepted her apology for it." She returned smartly. He angled a glare at her, gritting his front teeth together behind his curled lips, obviously miffed that he'd blown his own poorly devised cover story, even before he'd made it up. His expression, however, softened from angry to mild annoyance quickly.

"Her an' Lori, " he nodded in the direction Carol had left in, "They both came to me yesterday tryin' to get me to tell you to say sorry to the kid…Sayin' you overreacted n' shit."

Pru's anger swelled on his behalf.

"Why the hell would they drag you into it?" she said indignantly.

"S'what I said."

She watched as he regarded her from a moment as if he wanted to say something more, though by the time he'd gone to open his mouth, they'd reached the camp area, seeing that everyone else had reconvened in the area. Herschel and Rick seemed to be discussing something while Glenn and a few others were moving things around, packing, and putting supplies into the cars. She and Daryl walked in on the conversation just in time to hear Rick speak. "It's gunna be tight with fourteen people in one house."

"Don't worry 'bout that," Herschel began, "With the swamp hardening…The creek dryin' up-"

"Fifty head of cattle on the property, we might as well be ringin' the dinner bell…Look what's happened already." Maggie interjected.

"She's right," Herschel said solemnly, "Shoulda moved you in a while ago."

Rick didn't argue. He knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. After last night and this morning, he knew that in the upcoming days and possibly weeks, they'd need to watch their backs more, and it would be easier to do with four secure walls around them as a shield. He began delegating responsibilities, rapid fire, to the entire group.

"Alright, let's move the vehicles near each of the doors, facing out towards the road…Get a lookout in the windmill, another in the barn loft; that should give us sight lines both sides of the property." He began, as his eyes surveyed the scene before him. As T-Dog hurried by, Rick grabbed his shoulder,

"T-Dog, you take the perimeter of the house. Keep track'a everyone comin' and goin'."

"What about standin' guard?" he asked referring to Randall.

"I need you and Daryl on double duty." He answered almost apologetically. She heard Daryl let fly a quiet grunt from his place at her side. She turned, taking the sight of him in. His eyes were hooded and bloodshot from lack of sleep. He looked exhausted.

"Gotcha." T-Dog huffed, sounding a bit worn, but still willing to help.

"I'll stock the basement with food and water…Enough that we can all survive there a few days if need be." Herschel said as he walked back over to Rick with some supplies. Rick nodded gratefully.

"What about patrols?" Andrea asked.

Rick's gazed turned to her next. "Pru, I need you out there on that horse keepin' an eye out around the property for as long as this takes. Once we get this area locked down, you can switch out if you like. Can you handle that?"

"You're the boss, man." She shot, turning to leave before he called out to everyone again. She turned back for a beat.

"Shane's in charge and is gunna stay here and assign shifts while Daryl n' I take Randall off sight and cut 'im loose."

Upon hearing that, Pru turned to shoot Daryl a look of surprise. She wanted to open her mouth and defend the points she'd made last night in favor of executing Randall, but she was too bowled over by Rick's choice of who was to accompany him on their run. Daryl was apparently moving up in the pack, and by the look she read on Shane's bruised face, he wasn't too happy with having to sit out a play.

"Back to that now?" she heard Shane ask, clearly annoyed. She didn't want to hear what was about to come next. She gave Daryl one last look before jogging off to the barn. A look that said,_ Good luck with that._

The sun was beginning to set when she wandered back to the farm's camp. Her thighs and back were getting saddle sore from the constant motion of the animal underneath her. She'd been out there for hours, never having gotten the cue from anyone to come back in and rotate shifts. Something was beckoning her back to their home base. Little did she know she was about to walk into a shitstorm.

All she'd heard was a bit of commotion at first, back behind the house. She pushed the horse into a gallop and rounded the corner to see everyone gathering in front of the barn.

"What's goin' on?" she yelled as she pulled the horse to an abrupt stop, feet from everyone else.

"Randall's gone. T-Dog came to collect him so Daryl and I could leave, but when he got here, the door was locked and all, but he wasn't in there." Rick answered voice quavering with anger and fear.

"What? Did you guys check the fuckin' loft?" she said, hopping off the horse and pulling her gun. Her legs and back protested, sore from the horse, as she stomped to the open door.

"We checked. I'm goin aft-" Daryl began, but he was cut off by Shane's loud frantic voice.

"RICK! HE'S ARMED! HE TOOK MY GUN!" he called as he stalked out of the forest. His face was covered in thick blood that leaked from a very obviously broken nose, down his throat and onto his chest.

"Are you okay?" Carl asked at the sight of his injured friend.

"I'm fine. The bastard snuck up on me and clocked me in the face with a rock. Took my gun and ran off." Shane confessed. Rick started barking orders again, rallying a search party. He asked Herschel and T-Dog to keep everyone in the house and make sure they kept an eye out. He'd turned to her and ordered her to stay on the horse and continue patrolling to make sure if he was out there in the woods, he wouldn't make it from there to the house. Glenn and Daryl were called away with him and Shane to track his path through the forest. If anyone was going to find this kid, it would be Daryl.

He shot her a terse and wordless look of warning with his mazarine eyes before they both headed in opposite directions. Be careful. That man said more to her with his eyes in one glance than she figured he'd ever say out loud. She boomeranged the look back onto him, matching his intensity with her own gaze as she hoisted herself back onto the horse before kicking at the its flanks, causing the animal to sprint away. She quickly rode the horse into the openness of the field, back the way she came. Again, she rode at the tree line, as she always had, only now her pace was quicker as she deliberately searched for a known enemy.

She continued on that way around the big field for hours. It grew dark and cold quickly as the sun had slipped beyond the horizon. She was thankful for the new jacket suddenly, and drew the wool lined hood up, pulling the sleeve down over the hand she clutched the reigns with. She kept a wary eye on the dark house, wanting to go back because the silence made a pit of uncertainty grow in her stomach. Normally, they would be finishing up dinner, and the house would be lit and full of life. Its darkness was unsettling now, and she grew restless as she became more and more unnerved. Eventually the odd feeling that was causing her skin to all but crawl away beat her out. She turned the horse to trot back to the house for a quick status report.

As she closed in, she saw a few people gathered on the porch. They all looked to be in some sort of panicked state. They were dealing out guns to everyone. To her relief, however, she'd seen that Daryl and Glenn had made it back and were slowly crossing the porch. Rick and Shane, though, were nowhere in sight. She rode up to the side of the house just as Lori came running out, frantic.

"I can't find Carl! He's not in the house!" she yelled.

Of course.

"What the hell's goin' on? Did you see Randall?" Pru called to the group. She saw his head snap around and he met her questioning stare with one of alarm, at first, before it morphed into one that, if she was being honest, looked a lot like relief.

"Oh, thank god." Andrea said as she walked to the steps. Pru looked back to Daryl, knowing he'd have a short and sweet answer to her question.

"Randall's dead… Just like them." He said as he jerked his chin out in the direction of the main pasture. A chill ran down her back even before she turned her head to look upon what he'd gestured to. His tone had caused it, really. For the first time since she'd met him, he sounded uncertain. The single most resolute person she'd ever met sounded unsettled.

When she looked out into the open space, she saw a muddled shape in the distance. She was unsure at first, squinting at it as it crept. To her horror, the mass in the distance was emitting a dull hum. A moan.

Walkers. Droves of them. More than she could count. More than she'd ever seen together at one time.

"Motherfucker." She whispered to herself.

She was snapped back to reality by the sounds of Lori despondently yelling for Carl. She was going to draw every last one of them to her. Carol tried to shush her as she urged her to leave and get into the cars.

"I'll find him." She volunteered. Half the faces on the porch turned to her, shocked.

"No, you ain't," he shouted as he hopped over the banister, crossbow at the ready as he stomped over to her, "I'm goin' to find Rick. Kid's prob'ly with 'im. Both of us don' need to be runnin' 'round exposed. Leave the damn horse an' get to the cars with everyone else."

She looked past him to see that they were starting to flow past the pasture gates just beyond the house. The rotting mass of walkers was just yards away and closing in. She raised her gun and fired, causing the horse to spook a bit before he reached out and grabbed the reigns that hung from the animals head, steadying it. She glared down at him.

"I'm not gunna argue with ya, right now! We'll cover more ground this way. Go!" she snapped. He snarled back at her, looking distinctly betrayed. She fired again, hitting her target as it shambled behind him. "Fucking GO."

He took off running and she charged away in the opposite direction, out the way she'd come from. The path was clear and she figured she'd be able to spot the boy if he was in the vast fields before the herd could get to them. A car sped past her in the direction of the oncoming walkers. Maggie was in the driver's seat and Glenn hung precariously out the window. Seconds later, she heard round after round of gunfire erupting behind her. She could hear the swell of another engine soon after that, hoping that it had meant that everyone had made it to the cars safely.

The stench of death became a blanket in the air as they drew closer. It was a familiar and sickening scent that she hadn't experienced at this thickness since she'd left the highways of New Jersey. As the horse ran full tilt, out past the gates and into the pasture, she started to realize the dead were now coming from every direction. She wove the horse through the outstretched arms, eyes darting for an open path. Suddenly she saw it. That damned campaign hat was flying through the field just in front of her. Rick, thankfully, was right behind his son, picking off anything that got too close.

"RICK!" she called, urging the horse under her forward. The two ran towards her when they realized what was happening.

"Pru, take Carl and get out of here! I'm gunna make a run for the barn." Rick said, lifting the boy.

"Rick, we can all fit! Just get on!" she yelled, pulling the boy to her chest instead of moving forward in the saddle.

"We'll be too heavy. It's faster this way. GO!" he pleaded.

"Dad, No!" Carl cried.

"Rick, watch out!"

"I'll find you, I promise! Go now!" he yelled, turning to shoot at an oncoming walker. When he was sure the thing was down, he turned and smacked the horse on its rear and sent them off. She vaguely registered the boy crying into her chest as they tore away, trying to make their way back to the house. Hopefully, everyone was still alright, and she'd be able to get Carl to Lori.

As they neared the house, however, she started to realize that the encroaching hoard was becoming far too numerous. It was then that the blood curdling screams began.

"Shit!" she breathed, stopping the horse. She looked down and a walker was almost right on top of her. She fired at it and spun the horse, looking for a new exit route.

"Hang on tight, Bud, we're gunna find your mom." She breathed into Carl's hat as they took off again. Chaos was the only way to describe it. They were absolutely everywhere. She tried to make her way around the fence, but they were pooling at the gate, attracted to the horse's movement and the sounds of the gunfire and hoof beats. The way was not only blocked, but they were now pouring through, over, and underneath the fence.

"Goddammit!" she screamed, pulling the horse around again back into the field, "Carl, we gotta leave! There's too many of them! I can't get through!"

"We can't leave them!" Carl cried against her.

"We gotta, Bud. Just for now." She assured, tucking her arm that held the reigns over his shoulder, drawing him to her protectively as they rode off. Just then, an overwhelming feeling of guilt struck her. She may have just lied to the poor kid. They may never be able to come back, and they may not ever see his parents or anyone else again…

As they peeled through the field at breakneck speed, she saw that the barn had been set ablaze somehow. Horrified herself, she was thankful Carl's head was facing the other way. Her worst fear was all but confirmed at the sight. They probably wouldn't be back…And even if they were, she knew there were some faces they wouldn't be seeing again. As they wove through the shambling bodies and outstretched, decaying arms, she found herself thinking of those intense, glaring, blue eyes. Daryl's eyes. Her own welled up a bit as she fired the last round in the magazine into the head of one of the walking corpses.

She holstered the first gun, drew its mate, making a mental note that there would be no bullets after that. Twenty rounds. Then only four arrows. Every one of them would count. She cursed under her breath as they rode into the darkness of the woods that surrounded what had become their home.

For hours they'd dodged between the tight-packed trees and the grasping hands. Gaping, hungry jaws snapped and snarled at them from behind what seemed to be every single tree in the forest. She'd ridden the poor horse hard the whole time.

After a while, though, because of the horse's fleet-footedness, they'd outrun most of the massive herd and were only seeing stragglers. It had still been too dangerous for a walking pace, but at a canter, she knew they'd still be uncatchable.

Now as a faint light began to filter through the trees, she'd finally been able to let up, and walked the horse. Eventually, she'd had to stop. Her body screamed in pain, having been on the animal's back for over twelve hours. Carl, too had begun complaining, so she allowed the boy down to stretch and relieve himself, knowing they were no longer in immediate danger.

When she'd climbed back onto the horse and reached a hand out to the child to pull him up into the saddle with her, he'd groaned and kicked at the dirt.

"Where are we even going?" he sighed. Damn this kid. She'd just saved his ass and now he was talking back.

"Who knows?" she said honestly, " Away. I'm not from around here, kiddo."

"You said we'd go back!" he insisted as she hauled him up and settled him behind her this time.

"Ya know it's too dangerous, still. And I'm almost out of ammo." She said as she got the horse moving again.

"Well, I'm not." The kid piped up. She looked over her shoulder, eyebrow quirked at the kid's statement. He smiled, proudly, and produced a gun from the back of his waistband.

"Where the hell did ya get that?" she asked. She stopped, taking it from his hand and expected it. She recognized it almost immediately.

"Man, this is Daryl's! What the hell are _you_ doin' with it?" he asked, a bit of anger in her voice. She knew the man would have never willingly handed it over to the kid.

"…His motorcycle." He replied in a small voice. His words set her blood boiling and she turned to face him quickly in the saddle.

"What is wrong with you? Huh? He needed this last night! What if he's dead now because he didn't have it?"

"I'm- I'm sorry." He stammered, a tear now rolling down his cheek.

She stared daggers into his eyes for a moment before she started tearing up at her own words. She turned back around, quickly making a poor attempt at hiding it.

"You're sorry…" she snorted, "…God, Carl, for a cop's son ya pretty damn rotten, ya know that?"

Neither said anything for what was probably a half mile and then Carl spoke up again, out of the blue.

"You like him, huh?" he asked, voice equally as small as before.

"Huh?"

"You like him…Like Maggie and Glenn. Mom and Dad." He said sheepishly. She flinched, knowing exactly who he meant and the knowing the direction the conversation was about to take.

"I don't know what you're talkin' about." She denied glancing around nervously, acting if she was checking the area in front of them for more walkers.

"You guys look at each other the same way as they do sometimes…Glenn and Maggie. Like you're afraid of something…But you wanna punch each other at the same time."

And with that, Carl suddenly redeemed himself a bit to her. She laughed aloud and nodded, "Yeah, that…Sounds pretty spot on, actually."

Carl giggled a bit at that. Her smile faded before she spoke to the boy again.

"If…" she started, before thinking better of her wording, "When we find them…Him. Don't say anything, huh?"

She felt Carl nod behind her and she allowed herself to laugh a bit again.

The sun had climbed the sky, though it wasn't anywhere near overhead yet. Carl had dosed off, head limp against her back, and she'd begun to wonder for a while if they'd just walked in a circle for a long time, doubting her directional skills. When they reached an embankment, she could tell by the way it cleared on the other side of the trees that there was a road at the top. She nudged Carl awake with her elbow.

"Hang onto me. We're goin' up that hill."

The boy obeyed and she pushed the horse forward up the small but steep hill. When they reached the top, the tree line broke; bright autumn morning sun glinted off an aluminum guardrail, the only separation between them and a road choked with wrecked and abandoned cars.

She could feel the boy perk and shift around behind her, and he suddenly began tugging excitedly on her arms.

"Pru! I know this place! This is the same road we lost Sophia on before we went to the farm!"

"Carl, there are a lot of roads-"

"No! This is it! I remember seeing that car flipped over the railing over there." She said lifting his hand to point southerly at a particularly horrific accident. A large, red SUV had slammed into a much smaller green compact. The force had picked the tiny car up and wedged the nose between the front of the truck and the railing, pinning it vertically. Bodies hung out the windows of both vehicles. The passengers had died on impact. Yeah, that would have been pretty tough to forget.

"Ya sure?" she asked. He nodded.

"The place where the RV broke down was that way," he said turning to point to the opposite direction, "If Mom and Dad made it to the road, they wouldn't go back that way, towards Atlanta, where we came from…They'd go the opposite way!...And anything following us would just keep going straight."

It was a valid point. The choice of which way she should go was clear.

"Smart kid." She smiled, "…A'wright. We go this way."


	18. Chapter 18

**Sorry that I disappeared for like a week and a half. Between work and seeing my guy for the first time in a month, my schedule his been a bit wacky. I also feel like I've lost quite a few of you. Whether it be because the last chapter was entirely too long, or just plain awful, I don't know, but I apologize. =/**

**This chapter didn't turn out how I'd intended AT ALL, but I feel like it's going in a good direction, so there's that. It's a Daryl chapter, and the entire time, he's trying to come to terms with what the hell's just happened and uses that brain of his quite a bit.**

**Let me know what you think. Your reviews and comments make this all the more fun, and I love them. You guys keep me going! Much love, guys!**

**I OWN NOTHING!**

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He'd given up the fight for the farm after he realized he didn't hear the gunfire anymore. There were no more glowing head or taillights. No more screams. They were all gone. Dead maybe. Somehow, he'd known it would end up this way since the day they set foot on the farm. The farm had been _too_ safe, and it had hooked them in, dragging them all into some false sense of security, allowing their guard to fall while they all dealt with the problems that came along with living with each other.

When he heard Carol's weak, desperate cries for help, he'd sped off towards her, hoping he'd reach her in time. She was out of breath, sobbing, and barely a few feet in front of the walkers that pursued her when he pulled up, urging her onto the bike in the only way he knew how.

"C'mon!", he'd shouted rudely, "Ain't gotta all day!"

Now they were skirting along the back roads as his brother's motorcycle roared beneath them. It was almost dawn by the time they'd gotten to the thinned edge of the herd that had passed through and overtaken the homestead. After that, he'd just kept going, trying to put as much distance between them and the threat as possible.

The warm glow of the rising sun was becoming bright enough to fully illuminate the sky when they'd finally pulled over to rest. He stopped the bike on the side of a desolate dirt road that carved its way through the trees. He looked around for a moment before kicking the stand out, taking in the area. There was a small hill to their left, he noticed, with another little road or path that ran parallel to the one they were on just visible through the woods.

"What are we doing?" Carol asked voice low as she peeled herself from the seat behind him.

"S'it look like?" he answered curtly still looking around, on edge, as if he was just waiting for something to spring from the trees and rip one of their throats out.

"No, Daryl, I mean what are we _doing_? Where- We need to find the others." She touted firmly. Her extrinsic staunchness caused him to glower and turn slowly to face her.

"Yeah? Find 'em _where_?" he snapped, making sure to enunciate the last word, effectively extinguishing whatever adamancy had found its way to the surface of her character. Her head fell and she wrapped her arms around her upper body in attempt to comfort herself. Her breath hitched.

_Not this shit again._

"Hey," he said, softer now than normal, "We'll figure somethin' out, huh? They gotta be 'round here someplace. Coulda only got so far."

She nodded and scrubbed the back of her hand along her cheek, pointedly keeping her eyes averted. He lifted himself from the seat of the bike and pulled his crossbow into his grasp, just in case. His joints popped and groaned about their sudden use, causing him to wince a bit. Suddenly, she spoke again, and this time her tone was even like it had been before.

"They're fine. They're all fine." She repeated, trying out what seemed to be her new mantra for the time being. He couldn't reply. All he could muster was a sullen, tight-lipped nod.

Ever the realist, he knew that that chances that everyone made it out unscathed, let alone alive, were slim to nil, but he'd let her have this. He'd let her cling to the hope that her friends had either fled from the farm or managed to hunker down and make it through the siege. Hope was all she had, he reasoned, and the last thing he would do now would be to strip that away from her. He'd not have her shattered heart or mind on his conscience, dammit.

His conscience currently was suffering under the weight of something else, and it was just about all he could take. He shouldn't have let Pru volunteer to run off looking for Rick and Carl just before the farm was overrun. He knew the second she'd opened her damn mouth in protest that he'd not see her alive again. He should have walked over and pulled her off that fucking horse and shoved her ass into one of the cars, though had he done it, he'd probably end up with a shiner or another bullet wound. Though, he reasoned, the pain would pale in comparison to the dull ache in his chest that he'd been experiencing since.

_Bitch gone off an' got herself ate! Yer better off, baby brother! Woo!_

The voice in his head was loud and laughing maniacally…And suddenly Daryl found himself beginning to reluctantly agree with the phantom. Maybe he was better off with her dead and gone. She'd made him feel clumsy and unsure of everything he'd done lately, and life these days wasn't gunna wait around for mistakes and second guesses. Too much of his time and energy was spent on thinking lately rather than doing. Infatuation was all it had been, and he'd weakened himself for it. _Idiot._

He felt himself being shaken roughly and realized he was doing it again. He was off somewhere in his head when he should have been keeping an eye out. Carol was tugging at his arm. He shook her off and yanked his arm out of her grip.

"Shit! What?" he snapped.

"Daryl, listen! Do you hear that?" He voice was a shaky whisper. He narrowed his eyes at her and listened for what she had heard. In the distance, he could hear a quiet droning. The sound was unmistakable. The combination of an engine and tires running along a road. A car. Their eyes darted up and down the road they stood on, but saw nothing as the sound grew louder. He looked to the small road on the hill, and Carol's eyes followed.

They saw the tail-end of a car round a curve and swerved dangerously. The tires screeched and protested as it negotiated the high, winding road above them. He recognized the car immediately, along with the way it was being driven.

"Glenn and Maggie!" Carol yelped as if she'd read his mind.

Without hesitation, he hopped on the bike and kick-started it. Thankfully, Carol had the good sense to climb back on behind him and wrap her arms tightly around his waist. They took off just as the car came back into view. It was just in front of them still on the road above, but the road was both descending and drawing closer through the trees. About a quarter mile up the road he could see a small gap where the roads intersected and became one. He smiled to himself a bit and sped up. The motorcycle's horsepower carried it quickly to the place he intended to stop, just beyond the crossroads.

When they stopped, he allowed her off the bike before he swung his leg back over and leaned himself against the seat with a smug smirk settling on his mouth. The car came down the hill and suddenly the driver slammed on the breaks. From his spot outside the car, he could see Glenn staring; his mouth agape in what must have been a mixture of relief and disbelief. Carol made a choked sobbing noise as she ran to the passenger side door to meet Maggie as she exited and Daryl watched as the two embraced and couldn't help but let a small smile slip. Glenn exited and walked over to him and he wiped the smile from his face in favor of a warning glare.

"Don' you be thinkin' yer gunna hug me." He threatened. Glenn laughed and extended his hand for him to take instead. Daryl had never been the sentimental type, but he was genuinely glad to see the pair alive and in one piece, though he'd never admit to it verbally. He eyed the offered hand skeptically for a beat before taking it and shaking it firmly. Maggie, still wrapped around Carol, approached them and he offered her a friendly nod as Glenn leaned in to hug Carol, as well.

"…The others? My dad and Beth?" she asked after the reunion began to simmer.

"Dunno yet. Ya'll the first we seen." He admitted quietly. The wind left the young couple's sails immediately. Glenn drew Maggie to him then, to steady and reassure her wordlessly. Inwardly, he felt like he'd just failed somehow, though logically, he knew better. He had no control over the events of the night before. It wasn't his fault that everyone went tear-assing off in different directions or stayed behind to be eaten…Except for her. That, in his mind, was in him.

He was back to this. Berating himself for the fact that she may be dead, just like he had when the pale and bloodied shell of Carol's little girl had limped from that fucking barn.

…_Sophia._

"Shit!" he exclaimed, causing Glenn to spin around and draw the shotgun he'd been hauling around with him. He amended his thought quickly with few words.

"I got an idea. Follow me." He said as he urged Carol back on the bike. Glenn turned back to him looking confused, but began moving to the car anyway.

"…The highway. Where we lost Sophia." He said just before kicking the bike's engine over. That clicked in Glenn's mind. He and Maggie ran back to the car and followed the motorcycle back in the direction they'd come from.

After driving for about forty minutes, they'd come upon a long, straight road that dipped up and down in a series of hills. As the bike crested one, he could see an old, blue pickup ahead of them. After loading body after body onto the bed of that thing, he'd know it anywhere. He signaled to Glenn and sped off to catch it.

The truck had been carrying T-Dog, Lori, and Beth, and after another tearful reunion, the plan was announced and T-Dog had revealed that they had been headed in that direction, as well. That was all the assurance he'd needed, giving him hope for finding the others. As he drove, he took a mental inventory of their people. Rick, Carl, Shane, Pru, Herschel, Andrea, Patricia, and Jimmy were still missing, but he knew in his gut that they'd be there. With that, the convoy quickly made off for their intended destination again.

After another twenty minutes of travel, they'd managed to get to the highway. A short while after that, they'd come up on the spot where he'd left the message for Sophia. He'd realized just as they'd pulled up, that Herschel's massive red and white Suburban was on the road in front of them, and he knew then that he'd been right.

He pulled across the grassy median, leading the other cars to and opening in the traffic snarl. Rick ran immediately to him and clasped his hand into Daryl in another firm handshake. His attention was immediately pulled to his right when he heard a relieved cry come from someone exiting one of the other vehicles.

"Thank god!" she sobbed as she ran into Rick's arms. Rick kissed her on the forehead before turning back to Daryl.

"Where'd you find everyone?" the deputy asked as he clung to his wife.

"Saw this guy's tail lights zig-zaggin' all over the road. Figured it hadda be Asian drivin' like that." He quipped, motioning in Glenn's direction.

"Good one." Glenn laughed sarcastically. A second passed as Daryl surveyed the faces of the group. There were two in particular he'd realized weren't among them.

"Carl's asleep in the truck?" Lori asked suddenly as she smiled up at Rick. Rick paled and swallowed, visibly shaken.

"I thought- Pru? Where's Pru?" Rick asked, looking around, suddenly frantic. Daryl felt the bile rise into his throat. Lori pulled herself from his embrace and began backing away.

"…He isn't with you?" she asked softly.

"The herd was right behind us…Then Pru came. I told her to take him…It-it wasn't safe. We wouldn't have made it on foot." Rick explained as his voice quavered. Lori fixed him with a wide-eyed look of disbelief and rage.

"You lost our boy. YOU LOST MY SON!" she hissed. Rick looked completely stricken, and Daryl knew that despite being right in what he'd done for his son, he was now blaming himself for it. He nearly opened his mouth in Rick's defense when Herschel called out from where he stood.

"Don't saddle your husband with that guilt, Lori." Their elder admonished, "He did what was right to get them both out of there in one piece."

Lori's hand flew to her mouth and she doubled over, as if she was going to be sick, and he felt Carol brush past him and go to the other woman's side. He needed to diffuse this situation, but when he opened his mouth, the only other thing he could think to say was just about the same thing.

"Where's the rest of us?"

"We're the only one that made it here, so far." Rick choked out, "Pru had Carl when she left me in the field." The look on Rick's face was now apologetic, and the meaning behind it made Daryl uncomfortable. That wasn't what he'd asked, but Rick answered with what he thought he'd need to know. Apparently it was obvious to everyone but him. He cared for her. Whatever the hell that meant. Fuck what he'd thought before about being better off.

"We'll find 'em, Rick." He said, averting his eyes.

"Shane?" Lori asked from her spot on the ground. All Rick could muster was a shake of his head, and Daryl watched as Lori's eyes began to pool again.

They explained to each other the whereabouts of the missing members for a moment. Patricia and Jimmy had both met sad and gruesome ends, one ripped from Beth's arms by the herd, the other, in an attempt to save Rick from the burning barn, was overrun. Andrea's fate, however, was in question. She'd come to Carol's aide and then T-Dog said he thought he saw her taken down by a single walker.

"You definitely saw Andrea…die?" Carol asked looking back and forth between Lori and T-Dog. Neither could be positive.

"I'm goin' back for 'er, then. Pru an' the kid, too…Gimme the keys." He demanded walking towards Rick.

"No." Rick said quietly.

"We can't jus' leave 'em out there." Daryl said incredulously. This was Rick's own kid, and he wasn't gunna let him go look for them?

"They aren't there…They're not. They're either somewhere else or…Or dead. There's no way to find them, and I'm not willing to risk more lives…I don't want any more blood on my hands."

Daryl found himself ready to knock some sense into the hopeless man in front of him. He couldn't believe that he was just going to give up, though his pragmatic side was screaming that Rick was right.

"We're not even gunna look for them?" Glenn echoed his thoughts.

"We'll wait a bit longer, then…We- We have to assume they didn't make it. We have to move on." He said tearfully. Daryl's brow furrowed as he sank back into the seat of his brother's motorcycle. So they'd wait…

A tense and grievous hush befell the area as a single walker shambled towards their circle. Daryl dragged his tired frame from the bike and walked a few feet towards the interloper and killed the thing easily. He bent to pull the spent bolt from the rotting skull and as he wiped the filth and gore on the leg of his black jeans, as he spoke the words he'd held back after he'd killed the last three walkers that stumbled by. There had only been a few, total, but they were getting more frequent, and he began to fear that the heard had doubled back and was heading back towards then now.

"Ain't safe here. Too exposed." He mumbled, hating himself for it. He turned his head to catch Rick's gaze as if to tell the man he was finally ready to give up, too. Rick nodded and drew in a ragged breath.

"Alright…Time to go." He said just loudly enough for everyone to hear.

"No. No, no, no!" Lori's hysterics began again as she pleaded with her husband, "Not yet! They'll be here. Just one more hour, please?"

Rick put his shaking hand to his wife's head and drew her in, tucking her under his chin.

"We have to go. We have to believe that he's safe, somewhere…That Pru…Or Andrea have him and he's safe." He whispered nervously, "…We're no good to our boy dead, and that's what we are if we stay here much longer."

With a bit of help from T-Dog. Rick was able to get Lori into the Suburban so they could roll out. Carol clung to Daryl's leather-clad back as he started the bike up again, when he was suddenly struck by a thought. Quickly, he turned the bike off again and rose out of the seat and walked with purpose over to Rick's window. He motioned for him to roll it down.

"Which way you intend on headin'?" he asked the driver who replied with a shrug.

"Why? You got an idea?"

Daryl nodded. "You remember the day we found Pru? That town where we found her? It ain't too far from here… It's back south, just a bit. She knew that garage was safe…Maybe she- They stopped there to rest or somethin'…Left some supplies behind, too. Probably wanna get some food an' water into that kid 'ayer's.

Rick considered his idea for a moment before returning his nod. Daryl could see in the other man's face that he'd given him a small glimmer of hope, but it was still just that, small, and he wasn't going to celebrate just yet.

"Alright, then. Let's get moving." The man ordered, and with that Daryl was back off towards the motorcycle.

"What's goin' on?" Carol asked him when he returned.

"I know where they're at." He said as he started the machine up.


	19. Chapter 19

**I'm flying by the seat of my pants right now. This chapter happened rather quickly and it's completely different from what I had planned...But it's good and it works! =)**

**This is some banter between her and Carl and all action! **

**Absolutely cannot wait to churn out the next chapter, and if this one is any indicator, I should have that up by tomorrow night. After that, though, I can make no promises. I'll be off camping in the Appalachians for a week, so...No computer, but plenty of time for brainstorming(And a great atmosphere for getting into Daryl's head, I suspect!).**

**Keep those reviews coming, kids. I love to hear from you all! I'd also like to know where you think this is going, and if you have any ideas or suggestions about the plot, story line, or the characters. Thank you so much for reading and ENJOY!**

Disclaimer: I said it before, and I'll say it again. I do not own The Walking Dead. 

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"I'm thirsty."

"Ya said that already. Twice."

"Well, I am!" the boy whined.

"What would ya like me to do about it, Carl? Honestly? I'm all for suggestions." She challenged. That shut the kid up, again, for a few seconds anyway, until he let out a petulant moan just over her shoulder.

"Shut up!" she yelled, forgetting for a moment that they were trying to stay quiet, "Just where the hell are we going, now? I thought ya said they'd be here someplace? How far is it?"

"I don't know! It was faster in the cars!...We're going the right way, though."

She groaned at Carl, bringing the horse to a halt and dropped out of the saddle and onto the ground. Her knees immediately buckled under her own weight, from sitting atop the horse for what, by now, was probably an entire twenty four hours with only short breaks, and she sank weakly to the ground.

"Are you okay?" the boy called from above.

"Fine. Just…Stretching my legs," She said facetiously, "Keep an eye out for a sec, will ya?"

She sat on the pavement for a moment, flexing her painfully stiff legs. Every few seconds she would glance up to the boy who, to his credit, was doing exactly what she'd asked of him, keeping a wary eye on their surroundings. She mashed the heels of her hands to her eyes and rubbed roughly in an attempt to chase the exhaustion from the heavy lids.

"…Bryde…mere?" Carl said experimentally. Her ears perked at the name. She turned to regard the boy still in the saddle.

"What?"

"Brydemere. Half mile that way." He pointed to a sign just ahead of them on the shoulder. She recognized that name from the sign outside the Baptist Church and the Weekly Post that had swirled in the lazy summer breeze all those weeks ago. She smiled victoriously and reached for the stirrup to pull herself from the ground. After a few moments of clumsy attempts at pulling her body back into a sitting position, she managed to settle and get the horse moving again, but towards the forked exit.

"What are we doing?" Carl demanded, "This isn't the way!"

"Ya said ya were thirsty, right?...I know a little place." she countered smugly.

It was past midday when they'd rode into the tiny, deserted burg. It was just as she'd left it, only now, dried autumn leaves were beginning to settle in drifts along the untended store fronts, yards, and the lifeless bodies that sparsely littered the street. If the chill in the air wasn't enough of a reminder of the change in seasons and the amount of time they'd all spent living this way, the dead, dry leaves were.

The streets were still and the slow clop of the horse's footfalls beneath them was the only noise that could be heard around them. There were no walkers in sight, but she knew better than to let her guard down. They were around, and it was only a matter of time before a few crawled out of the woodwork.

She reached into her leather satchel and pulled out the gun she'd confiscated from the boy earlier that morning, and studied it for a moment, trying to decide if what she was about to do was wise. She stilled the horse before turning to eye Carl over her shoulder.

"Ya know how to shoot a gun?...Like really shoot one? Not pull the trigger and have the thing slam back into ya face?" she asked the boy. The boy nodded earnestly..

"I put Shane down last night. He almost got Dad."

She turned fully in the saddle at his stone-faced declaration. All the questions that welled up in her mind, she feared to be too much for the boy, so she opted not to ask them. Shane was dead. The kid took him out. That's all she needed to know for now. This wasn't the time for the story. She simply nodded and pushed the gun back into the child's hands.

"This is the place I was staying before ya Dad and the others brought me to the farm. There's a shop just up ahead. I cleaned it out, mostly, but I know there's a case of water bottles and some snacks still left on top of a shelf that I couldn't get to on my own. Hopefully it's still up there," she explained, "Now listen to me. We're leaving the horse here, and ya gunna come in there with me so we can watch each other's backs, a'wright? I'm gunna go in first and clear the place, and ya stay just outside and make sure nothing sneaks up behind us, okay?"

She paused and waited for him to respond to her instructions.

"Okay." He said bravely as he moved to tuck the gun in his waistband so he could dismount. She grabbed him by the arm to pull his attention back to her.

"Carl, listen," her voice more grave now than it had been, "If anything happens, I want ya to run, okay? Don't try to be brave, and only shoot if ya absolutely gotta. Ya run back to this horse, and ya come back the way we came in. Don't ya stop for nothing…And if ya come across anyone living who isn't with our group, ya shoot to kill. Don't ask questions. Don't talk to them. Shoot and run back to that spot on the highway, ya got me?"

"I got it." He said. That was enough for her. She'd taken one more quick look around and then allowed the boy down out of the saddle before she followed. She kicked and stretched her rheumatic legs for a bit, in an attempt to regain as much function as possible before they had to make a potential run for it at some point. Her ass was numb, thighs were raw, and her ankles felt like they'd swollen in her boots once she'd started walking around on them again. She cursed under her breath as they moved across the open space and up onto the wooden porch of the once halcyon farm town. She felt like she was walking like a duck.

They crept along the porch until they reached the door of an old beer and liquor store. Dust had started to settle in the windows, and along with the blood, it made them an odd, discolored yellow-grey. It was impossible to see through the dinginess now, and it made her all the more anxious about entering the building. She gripped at the boy's arm a bit tighter, signaling to him that she was ready to move forward into the shop, and left his side to drag her back cautiously along the wall to the opposite side of the entrance. Reaching out, she pushed at the door that was open a crack. The sound of bells bouncing and chiming against the back of the door would, in less dire times, have been a happy and welcoming racket, but right now she felt the sound travel and echo around her, both inside and outside the shop. It may as well have been a fog horn, calling wayward ships into a harbor.

"Fucker." She snapped at the noise as she snuck into the room. She walked along the rows, re-checking them all for walkers or bodies…or anything she could deem as useful, before peering behind the counter, and finally into the back room where she'd last seen what she'd come for. The place was just as she left it. She passed a very thick, heavy basement door; its use was probably another stock room. The _Employees Only_ sign was speckled and streaked with gore and bloody handprints lined the lip of the door and the jamb. She shuddered remembering what she'd figured out was down in there the last time she'd been in this store, though it was weeks and weeks later.

She found herself wondering briefly about the shelf life of walkers. Maybe the things…Died again? Starved. She didn't know, and could only make a guess at how long these things could make it without a bloodmeal.

She made her way into the office and stock room, and looked to the spot she'd seen it last. And there it was; an unopened case of water bottles, some cheddar crackers and a box of beef jerky, a veritable buffet.

She turned back to collect Carl, who was all too willing to get inside and bolt the door behind them. Clearly the minute or so he'd spent alone outside the store had given him a bad case of agita. His back hit the door once it was shut, causing the bells to jangle quietly again. She stifled a small laugh and holstered her gun.

"Ya doing fine, Bud. C'mon, let's getcha some food."

They entered the back room and she dropped to a knee, snapping to grab his attention and motioning for him to climb onto her shoulders. He tucked his own gun away and threw one leg at a time over her, grasping at her forehead for purchase.

"Watch my eyes, dammit!" she warned as she brought herself back to her feet. It was difficult, more so than it should be, given the state of her raw legs, but she managed to steady herself against a shelf in front of her.

"Alright! Jeez!"

A second later, something fell past her face and landed with a slap at her feet. He knocked the boxes of crackers and beef jerky from the shelf so he could grab the heavy water and slide it down onto one that was a bit lower. She dropped back to a knee allowing him off before she stood to tear the shrink wrap form the bottles and hand him one.

He drank greedily and she couldn't help but feel proud of herself. She'd done okay so far. Now she just had to get the kid back to his family, who no doubt, were probably thinking the worst by now, if they were even still alive.

She took a bottle for herself and the bent to retrieve some of the beef jerky that now occupied the floor, thene made her way around the desk and sat into the old, wooden office chair and began rummaging through the desk. Most of the drawers had already been gone through, but there was a locked one at the very bottom of the desk that she hadn't felt the need to break into the last time.

She looked over the desk to the boy who was sitting, legs crossed on the floor, hungrily stuffing crackers into his cheeks like a hamster. Her gaze then moved around the room looking for something she could use to open the lock. When her eyes didn't spot anything, she twisted the cap off her bottle of water and chugged it down before leaving to go into the front of the store.

"Stay put." She ordered to Carl. He said nothing, opting instead to stuff more crackers into his mouth.

Behind the counter on the floor, almost completely out of sight underneath a shelf, she'd found exactly what she was looking for. She grabbed up the crowbar and strode back into the room, hoping to find something of value in the locked drawer. Carl got up when he saw what she had and followed her to the desk.

She jammed the iron pry into the crease in the drawers and with a swift downward motion from her foot, it popped open easily. She yanked the bent metal back and a lockbox came into view. Her heart sank briefly. Only the store's petty cash was to be found here. But the glint of something that peeked out from under the beige metal box caught her eye. She pulled the lockbox out quickly, letting it drop to the floor with a clank, exposing a small Kel Tec and full box of bullets that must have spilled out when she'd jarred the drawer open.

"Yatzee!" she yelled happily, pulling the firearm up to her face for inspection. She popped the magazine out. Full. Plus all the bullets she already had. They were back in business, at least for a bit.

"Gimme y- _Daryl's_ gun." she corrected herself.

"Why?" the kid asked.

"Because this one," she said pushing it into his hand, "isn't as big and will be easier for ya to shoot."

Carl handed the cumbersome Glock over to her in favor of the smaller gun. He looked it over, turning it in his hands, testing the weight.

"Now ya have ya own." She smiled. He returned her grin and walked back across the room, and she dipped back down to collect the box of bullets, shoving it into her satchel. As she went back to the drawer to collect the strays that had scattered from the box, she heard a metal click.

"What are ya doing over there?" She asked the boy.

"Maybe we'll find something we can use in here, too!" he said hopefully. Her eyes shot up from her task and her heart stilled.

"Carl, no!" she yelled standing immediately. An all too familiar sick gurgle came from the now open basement. The boy, clearly scared out of his mind, backed away slowly. What she couldn't see from her spot behind the thick, insulated basement door was a dark room with at least five, probably more, faces worth of gnashing teeth ascending towards him. There'd probably been a broken window down there that they'd crawled through and became trapped at some point.

The air in the room suddenly became offensive and thick with stale putrefaction and she reeled in a gag as she tried opened her mouth to call to the boy again, climbing over the desk, crowbar in hand, to try to slam the door shut again. Carl had backed flat against the metal shelving that the supplies had been upon, and she could see pale, alien arms reaching just past the door now. They were in the room with them now. She threw herself off the desk and into the wide swung door, the impact causing the air in her lungs to leave them in an audible rush. The impact on the other side of the door resulted in a cacophony of snarls, hisses, and a loud weight of at least one body tumbling back down the flight of stairs. Unfortunately, it hadn't stopped the ones that had already made it all the way up. She kept her weight on the door, legs pushing as hard as possible, but she wasn't gaining much ground. There must have been a ton of them.

"CARL, SHOOT!" she screamed. That seemed to suck him from his horrified stupor and back to reality. The boy drew the gun from his pocket and took aim at the closest one. He fired twice and she felt the weight pushing against the other side of the door ease up a bit, and she drove her weight into it like a linebacker pushing against the offense. It was enough to cause another body to fall backwards down the steps. She pulled herself from the door and ran to the boy, yanking him past the door that once again swung open.

"Carl, go! Now!" she ordered as she lifted the heavy iron rod over her head. She slammed it into the rotting skull of the next walker out of the basement and it fell forward, muddy blood spraying out onto her. Behind it, two more sets of arms were reaching through the doorway. They just kept coming. She heard those damned bells jingle roughly again as Carl's little body slammed into the door. She began backing out of the back half of the store slowly, keeping an eye on the coming walkers.

"Get outta here, Bud!" she said again. The kid squealed frantically, and in a strange part of her mind, it registered as a sound his mother might make in a similar situation.

"I can't! The lock! It won't turn!" he cried. She reached the door, drawing one of her guns with the hand opposite of the one clutching to the crowbar. She fired a shot into the next corpse to breech the thick door, but they were beginning to spill out two at a time now, and though they moved slowly, the adrenaline coursing through her veins made everything feel as if it was moving at the speed of light and as slow as molasses at the same time. She pushed the kid back against the wall, realizing the door was a lost cause, and drew back the crowbar, swinging it at the large, murky window.

The sound of glass shattering was like an explosion. There was a rush of cool air that accompanied the crash of the glass as it hit the ground. The sound only frenzied the encroaching flood further. She fired again, missing this time, only hitting one of them in the neck and she turned to peer out the window to check for any other walkers that may have heard the commotion. Instead, she saw the rear end of Herschel's horse as it galloped away down the street, probably spooked by the chaos. She cursed under her breath, and looked up and down the street again. Another shot came from behind her, from Carl's new gun. She didn't see any that were too close, but there were some off down the block, and they were definitely headed their way.

She turned back and fired twice more, hitting another, sending it sprawling to the floor before helping Carl negotiate his way through the field of shards on the floor. She bent to hoist him through the window and followed after him quickly.

"Where's the horse?" Carl yelled.

"It took off. C'mon, I left my Jeep a few blocks over." She panted dragging him by the wrist behind her, down off the porch just as they began to hear glass crunching and stumbling in back of them. Walkers were now quickly filling the streets all around them as they turned the corner into the alley way at the end of the block. Four more were shambling towards them as Carl shot at the ones that were pursuit from across the street. She raised her gun and opened fire on the ones in front of her.

This was not good.


	20. Chapter 20

**Like I said, it would be pretty quick, this one! It flew off my fingers! This is all Daryl. All hope, angst, hope, angst. Lather, rinse, repeat.**

**I hope you guys are enjoying the action. ZOMBIEMODE. And I hope you all enjoy where I'm going to take this next. We'll a have a little bit left as far as Season2 was concerned, then it's off on a new adventure straight out of my shriveled up little brain.**

**A few things before I leave you to your reading, dear friends:**

**I want to thank _LAKE9_ for your kind words. I'd have done it in PM, but it wouldn't let me. It honestly & truly means a lot, especially since I'm dumping all this time into it, haha. It's my hope, to get my piddly little fic into the "Best of Daryl Dixon" community eventually, lol. I'm a huge dork. HERP DERP.**

**Secondly, thank you to everyone else who's sticking around to see what's happening. Just like I**

**said above, it means a ton. Love your encouragement, and I want to hear more from you! Keep it comin'!**

**Thirdly, slightly off topic, but LOLWHOELSESAWNORM'STWEETAFEWHOURSAGO? That picture, haha. I'm a huge Caryl fan. So sue me. Seeing that Norm and Mel were playing pool together just made me giggle and irl "Awwwwwwwwww". I really hope she whompped his ass, too, lol.**

**Lastly, like I'd said at the beginning of my last chapter, I'm going camping for a week. That means no computer(which I'm fine with, because fuck technology). So that means no updating for a while. I may or may not be able to squeeze the next chapter in before I leave come the weekend, but I can't make any promises. Soooooooooooooo...Yes, sit tight and forgive my absence, pleaseandthankyou.**

**Oh good. I've written a whole new story right here. Enjoy, my lovelies!**

*****HEY, ASSHOLE. I DON'T OWN THE WALKING DEAD.*****

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They'd parked the cars under a shady grove of colorful trees that hung over the little road that lead into the town. The now nomadic Atlanta Survivors, along with what was left of the Greene Clan, were in search of a few of their lost members. Glenn, Rick, and Daryl, who were vaguely familiar with the town's landscape and where they were headed to, were taking the pickup the remainder of the way in to see if there were any signs of Carl, Pru, and Andrea. T-Dog, Herschel, and Maggie were to stay behind and look after Carol, Beth, and Lori.

They were dangerously low on ammo now; the only one still well armed being the huntsman, with both his hand made and aluminum crossbow bolts and the slingshot Pru had given to him. He looked over his beloved crossbow as he climbed into the bed of the truck.

"Hey," he called to Glenn, who was climbing into the passenger seat, "You know how to use this?" Daryl knew they couldn't afford to waste what little ammo they had left. And he was especially leery of using the noisy shotgun the kid was toting around out in the open. With downcast eyes, he handed his Horton off to the young man who looked absolutely baffled.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure I can handle it…What are you gunna-"

Daryl pulled the sling out of his pocket, unfolded it, and laced his hand through the wrist brace.

"M'just as good with this thing."

He hopped down out of the truck, and jogged back to the motorcycle, rummaging through the saddlebags before returning with another handful of bolts. He paused before getting back in and fixed Glenn with a hard glare.

"I left mah string'a walker ears back at the farm. You break or lose mah bow, I'll start a new one with yer's." he warned. Glenn nodded nervously and bowed into the cab of the truck, leaving Daryl to pull himself back into the bed. He signaled to Rick that he was ready to move with a tap of his fist to the back window.

They weren't far from their intended destination. It had only taken a few short minutes to flit through the small side streets to the old town's garage. The one that Pru had made her haven before she'd left it in favor of the farm. As they pulled up, Daryl's heart began pounding against the inside of his chest. He knew she'd be in there and he knew she'd have the kid with her. They'd both be safe. He was certain that if anyone were to make if off that farm in one piece, it would have been that hellcat. Heaven help anything or anyone that stood in her way.

The truck had barely come to a halt and he was already jumping off the open tailgate and onto the road. Rick climbed out next, hurriedly surveying the area before coming up behind Daryl, who was standing in front of the auto shop's door. Once Glenn was out, they went into formation, Daryl to the right of the door, with Glenn at his back, Rick to the left, who'd cover them as they cleared the building. Daryl's eyes met Rick's before he reached for the door handle. In them, he saw the tired man's last hope for finding his only son and they shined a bit, maybe with tears, as the man nodded to Daryl. Now or never. Daryl pressed his lips into a firm line and returned the nod, turning the knob and entering the dank garage.

It smelled as it had the day they'd found her. Manure and motor oil. The lack of air circulation in the building held the scent in, and it wafted its way into Daryl's nose as he entered. He scanned the room before calling out, voice only a bit above a whisper.

"Pru? Carl! Ya'll in here?"

He looked to the lifted automobiles and the metal staircase that lead to the roof, searching for them. He called out again, turning to look at a downtrodden Glenn, whose features were just barely lit by the afternoon sun pouring in from the door.

"Goddammit!" he hissed, not ready to admit defeated. Slingshot at the ready, marched back towards the office where she'd holed up. He bumped the door open roughly with his booted toe, only to be welcomed by a few stray water bottles, bags of chips, and a half empty pint of Wild Turkey that sat, tipped over on the desk. Just as they'd left it. No one had been there.

That same crushing feeling that he'd experienced when he'd kicked that roof door open to find his brother's severed hand had returned. It snaked its way up his body and tightened around his chest. He was wrong. He was wrong and they were dead.

_Lost. Walkers. Geeks. Just like Merle._

He turned and left the room, head hung. He passed Glenn and didn't look up until he was back out the front door of the shop. Rick's hand flew to his shoulder in askance. He brought his eyes up to meet Rick's again and gave his head the faintest of shakes.

"They ain't been here." He said quietly. Rick swallowed thickly, and lowered his weapon. His eyes went to his feet and he stumbled backwards, drunk with grief. His back met the side of the rusty, blood stained truck, and his legs went out from under him. Glenn came out of the building then, seeing Rick slumped and beginning to cry softly.

"What do I tell Lori? Wha- What do I tell her?" he whimpered, "I should have stayed with them. I should have got on that horse with them…Kept them safe."

Glenn and Daryl awkwardly exchanged looks for a moment, before Daryl won out, and Glenn knelt at Rick's side. The ruffian wasn't exactly the comforting type, even less so right now, having to deal with his own demons. Right now he felt like just running off into the forest, alone.

They'd sat there for ten minutes, Glenn trying to get Rick to pull himself together. Finally, they'd gotten the heartbroken man back into the cab of the truck. Glenn closed the door and looked to Daryl who'd been standing in the bed of the truck, physically keeping watch, but inwardly miles away. Daryl caught his stare, and snarled at him.

"Don' you be lookin' at me like I'm someone you gotta worry 'bout. Ain't nothin' wrong with me."

"Fuck! Alright! I'm just tryin' to help!" Glenn shot back as he crossed in front of the truck.

Just as Glenn reached for the car's door handle, both men's ears picked up a rhythmic sound. Daryl had thought he'd been the only one to hear it at first, but when Glenn turned to face him again, brow furrowed, it confirmed the sound. A hair before the animal came bolting from the cross street just a head of them, he'd recognized the sound as steel horseshoes on concrete. The horse ran into the street, bucking wildly and throwing its head before turning and heading off down the strip they were currently on. Daryl's jaw dropped and he looked to Glenn who was equally as stunned.

Finally the rough man pulled himself back to earth and slammed his hand down on the roof of the cab.

"Let's go!" he roared. Glenn tossed himself into the cab and took off even before managing to shut the door. They turned down the street the horse had flown from and Daryl could see a sparse group of geeks meandering about at the corner headed left down the street. Glenn picked up on it, too, and turned sharply when he reached the corner, taking out a couple of the staggering fiends. The normally agile Daryl was tossed off his feet and thrown to the bed of the truck, nearly falling out of the open tailgate as a severed arm landed next to him like a dead fish.

"You Chinese sonovabitch!" he hollered, rubbing at the arm that had made contact with the heavy steel to his right as he righted himself.

When he pulled himself up, bracing himself better against Glenn's erratic driving, he could see that again, more walkers were pooling at a corner in front of them and funneling into an alley. Now, the sound of gunfire was ringing through the streets as well. Again, Glenn jerked the wheel to take out a cluster as they whipped around the turn.

When they pulled into the alley, his eyes were greeted by a horrific yet relieving sight. Pru and Carl were perched atop a chain link privacy fence surrounded by a small herd. Maybe fifteen or so. The kid was clinging with one hand to the fence and popping off rounds. Pru, too, was straddling the barrier, but bent forward, reaching down to swing a crowbar at anything getting too close. She'd either run out of ammo, or was trying to save what little she had left. Glenn began leaning on the horn, beeping frantically to draw them away from the fence and closer to the noisy truck.

When she heard the horn, he watched as her eyes flew up and met his. Through the melee, he heard her let loose a strangled cry of relief and exhaustion.

"CARL!" the boy's father yelled from the window of the truck. The boy looked up and bleeted back to his father like a lost lamb.

He felt the truck heave into reverse and Glenn floored it backwards down the alley a few car lengths.

"The hell?" Daryl called, confused by the action until he felt the car shift back into drive. Glenn punched the gas, and mowed down a slew of the flesh-hungry atrocities, leaving only three more standing. Daryl immediately began picking the last of them off with the sharp projectiles fired from the slingshot.

And then it was over…It was silent save for the few walkers that had been mowed down but didn't die gurgling and growling beneath the truck purring truck. Glenn pulled forward, further into the alley, swerving the truck in the narrow space as much as possible to crush anything that may try to get back up, until the nose of the truck was just about to the fence, past the tangle of bodies. Rick and Daryl were both out of the truck as fast as they could manage to help the woman and child down off the partition, and Glenn hung back standing watch and firing upon anything that dared make a move to rise back up or drag its way forward.

"Dad!" the boy sobbed as he began climbing down the fence.

"I gotcha, Carl. C'mon...Easy, now." His Rick soothed. Once his son was within reach, he plucked him from the fence and wrapped his arms tightly around him.

"I gotcha…I gotcha now." Rick assured as wetness pooled in his eyes.

Meanwhile, Pru still clung to the top of the gate for dear life. Her eyes were wider than he'd ever seen. She looked tired and disheveled as she panted and snarled down at the dead that lay beneath the truck and at the foot of the fence. Too, she was covered in old, rotting blood and dazed, and to Daryl, she looked like a coon or possum that had been chased, mauled, and treed by his Grandad's hunting dogs. He never did have a taste for those damn dogs, even as a very young boy; too loud, clumsy, sloppy, and tended to shred their kills if they got the chance. Just like the geeks.

"Hey. Hey," he coaxed as gentle as he could muster as tucked the slingshot into his pocket. His heart was still thumping a mile a minute, as he reached his arms out to her, "C'mon down, now. They ain't gettin'up after that."

Her head snapped up to him and she scrutinized his movements and face, eyes twitching slightly, for what felt like too long. He thought fleetingly that perhaps she'd lost her mind. She look wild, rabid, even. On the verge of a walker, herself. The only thing that kept him thinking she was still _her_ was the way she gripped that hunk of metal, and the clarity of her frantic hazel eyes.

Finally she let the crowbar fall from her grip and it hit the asphalt with a metallic clang that echoed up between the buildings that crowded them and then skyward. He had to step back a bit as it bounced so it wouldn't clip his foot or shins, but came right back to the space beneath her as she made her descent from aloft. Her footing lost purchase on the slick gore now covering the once white metal slats on the fence, and her hands' contact with the fence broke as he caught her just above the waist.

He shook her slightly and her head lolled back, exposing her shaved bare temple and throat. He hoisted her a bit, causing her head to slump towards him again, eyes sickly wide and expressionless, and he freed a hand to slap gently at her sanguine spattered cheek.

"Hey. Look at me, girl," he ordered a bit roughly, slapping again, "You bit?...Hey! Answer me, dammit."

Her eyes drifted shut and a smile came to her lips, then, and suddenly she was back, though she was weak. "Nah, how about _you_, ya backwater asshole?"

And relief, in the purest form, coursed through him then as she drooped in his arms, though he didn't recognize it as such. He smirked as he hefted her, not willing to see if she could walk and then climb into the truck's cab. "Keep it up. I'll drop yer ass…Kid bit?"

He watched her shake her head, eyes still closed, as he placed her on the bench seat and then turned to Rick for conformation.

"Carl, did any bite or scratch you?" the father asked his son quietly. Carl pulled his head from his chest.

"No." he said quietly. The kid was doing his best to pull himself together now as he quickly wiped at his damp face. It made his father smile, and Rick turned back to meet Daryl's questioning look. Good enough.

"Let's get the fuck outta here then, man." Daryl declared as he closed the door to the truck.

Glenn wandered back to where Pru's flesh and blood covered prybar had fallen, picked it up by the dry end, and inspected it with a bit of disgust before speaking.

"I dunno how good an idea it is to keep that truck, now," he motioned to it with the piece of metal, "I think it's safe to say it's had it."

Daryl turned to his left. Sure enough, the windshield was cracked and spiderwebbed, damage made, obviously, by the impact of a body.

"We'll dump it once we get back to the others." Rick said as he stood, helping his boy to his feet along with him. Daryl turned back as he heard Pru rolling down the window of the truck just in time for some car keys to hit him in the chest and clink to the ground. She smiled weakly.

"Bitch," He muttered as he stooped to collect them from the floor, "What's this?"

"The hell do they look like?" she rolled her eyes derisively though she still smiled, "My CJ's around the corner."

He looked down at the keys again before hucking them over to Rick who caught them easily with one hand. With that he turned back and hopped into the bed of the truck. Glenn then passed along the pickup's keys to Rick as well, so the man could drive while keeping his son safe within the confines of the vehicle. Rick helped Carl into the middle seat of the cab between he and Pru, and Glenn, tossing the crowbar in next to Daryl, pulled himself up over the side of the truck and into the flatbed so as to avoid the puddles of gore at the tailgate. When he settled next to Daryl, back to the window of the cab, he looked down between them and saw the severed arm that had flown into the back while Daryl was being jostled around before.

"Ugh. What the…" he asked picking it up and flinging it out. It hit the wall of the old Victorian house that lined his right side of the alley with a sick slap and Rick backed the truck out.

"S'like I said before, you drive fer shit." Daryl commented, and he watched as Glenn huffed and rolled his eyes, tossing the Daryl's bolts that he'd collected from the heads of the final three upright walkers into his lap. Daryl looked down at them, then back up to Glenn with a sneer.

They watched as the back of the truck drew close to another stray, shambling walker before Rick slammed into it, mowing it down and completing his K-turn. Daryl turned back to face the young man he'd begrudgingly call his friend.

"An' gimme that." He finished snidely, snatching his crossbow back out of the Korean's hands. Glenn gaped back at him looking positively wounded, like a child whose little stuffed teddy bear had been ripped away from him. The look was enough to pull an honest, yet brief laugh from deep in Daryl's chest. Though they were now roving, destination unknown, with little to no supplies, and no damned plans, a huge weight, the one that had serpentined its way around his chest just minutes ago, came undone and allowed him to breathe freely. To feel something good for once.

But then a different weight settled in, deeper in his frame, lighter, and less sharp than the one that preceded it. It pulled the smile from his features. Wait until he got her alone. He was going to read her ass the riot act for being such a fucking crazy, stubborn, stupid shrew of a woman.

_For makin' me care about her crazy, stubbord, stupid ass._


	21. Chapter 21

**Quite, but tense little chapter. Not too much happens, but honestly that's because I have something saved up for you guys for the next chapter...**

**Like I'd said, I'm supposed to go camping, but...I don't know if that's going to happen now, seeing as how my poor boyfriend managed to get himself a fucking gallbladder infection or his birthday, so I think instead of a vacation, we're going to be loafing around on the couch...as usual. So, I don't know. Maybe expect the next chapter soon? Who knows, haha.**

**I have a question for you guys, actually, and I'd be super appreciative if someone could answer it. When you upload a document, there seems to be a little spot in that menu that says "LIFE" that counts down days since you've uploaded that chapter...Does that mean that the first few chapters of my shit are gunna be deleted or sucked into some random tube of the internet 15 days from now? Or will there be a large CDC-esque explosion I'll have to deal with...Or what? SOMEONE TELL ME. I'M STILL UNFAMILIAR WITH HOW THIS SITE WORKS, GUIZE D=**

**Now that I'm finished freaking out...Thank you to everyone who's been reading, reviewing, and adding this story to their Favorites lists. I'm honored and I am so happy that you're enjoying yourselves. Keep the reviews coming, and I'd love to answer any questions you guys have about the story or character development if you have any. With that said, I leave you kind people to your reading =)**

****I do not own The Walking Dead. Any dialogue, story lines, or characters used in this chapter OR ANY CHAPTERS, are strictly borrowed. Except for Pru. She's mine. Thanks in advance for not suing me, guys!**

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Her vision was hazy and wavered in and out as they shot the short distance from the alley back to the garage. Her jeep had been stashed in the fenced yard just behind the abandoned shop, and it waited there for them with the promise of a few things to hold them over for the day and night, a full tank of gas, and a bit more passenger room, even if the 'bit more' was an uncomfortable bit. Kidney jostling lifted CJs weren't exactly known for their comfortable human towing capacity, but it was more than the pickup had to offer.

They'd pulled right to the gate, and Daryl and Glenn had hopped out in an instant, eager to get the fuck out of Dodge. Glenn pulled the gate open after Rick passed the new set of keys off to him, granting the travelers access to the fenced area. Daryl went to the passenger door of the truck to usher her tired body to the next waiting vehicle. She felt it odd that he was so willing to haul her limp ass around, though she made no protest or even mention of it. She was grateful; especially since she knew he was probably so exhausted he was about in the same state.

By her count, he was on his third day without sleep. Last time she'd known he'd managed to have his eyes closed was the morning they woke together in his tent. He'd forgone sleep the night Dale had met his end in order to do, who knows what, then last night…No, there was no way he would have managed to rest. Suddenly she felt herself growing angry at both of them. Him for doing what he was doing, wasting what little energy he had left on her and angry at herself for letting him do it. She went to jerk herself from the hand on her back that guided her out of the cab, when Glenn spoke up, his laugh out of place.  
"For as shitty as the last few months have been, at least I can say I've gotten to drive some awesome cars." He said as he happily hauled himself into the driver's seat.  
She chuckled, and Daryl turned to look over the hulk of a vehicle before them. She had watched as his eyes moved over the thing, coveting almost, she thought. Its lift, snorkel exhaust, and towing wench made it impressive looking. Like a small monster truck.

"That's _yer's_?" he asked turning back to her.

"Yeah, it's _mine._ What did ya think I drove, a Yugo?" she mocked quietly. He didn't respond with anything but a smirk. He'd led her to the 4x4's door and helped her up and in before pulling himself into the back next to her. Rick shoved the seat back and got in just in front of them, taking Carl into his lap. They'd sealed the doors up and Glenn fired up the engine and left the little town behind.

When they'd reached the little spot on the shaded road at the town's border, she knew it would be a tense moment for the others as they saw a strange vehicle approach them. T-Dog had exited the Suburban, where everyone else was stashed, shotgun in hand, trying his best to look menacing. She laughed a bit.

Glenn pulled the jeep up to the car and Carl immediately flew from his father's lap, out the door to his mother who was scrambling out of the other truck after realizing what she was seeing. She caught the boy and weakly fell forward onto him, sobbing and holding him tightly to her body.

"Thank god." She'd moaned into the child's neck as Rick stooped to join his family on the ground, surrounding them with his arms.

Pru waved Daryl off as he helped her back out of the car, though it did not a scrap of good. He still hovered behind her as she walked to meet up with everyone. Smiles greeted her, and she returned them, though, one in particular was missing. Her own smile had begun to disappear and she turned to Daryl, eyes silently questioning his. He made no attempt to speak. He just shook his head once.

There went her legs again, collapsing out from under her like a scaffolding in a windstorm. She vaguely registered Daryl's arms guiding her to the ground. But she didn't cry. Instead, her breaths drew still and the world around her began to pitch and roll. For a second she'd thought she was experiencing an earthquake. It was the end of the world, after all, right? Par for the course.

Everything stopped spinning abruptly when she felt a small cold hand grip her arm, followed immediately afterwards by a second, larger, warmer one on her shoulder. She felt them gently pulling her forwards. Looking up, she saw Lori's red rimmed, shining eyes right in front of her. Rick and Lori were pulling her up into their chests along with Carl, she realized, and as if their minds were linked, Daryl backed away from her slumped body quickly, unwilling to be affection's collateral damage; swallowed up by the embrace as well. Rick and Lori had damn near squeezed what little air she had left in her lungs right out of her, and together they'd sat like that for a long time, comforting and taking comfort in each other.  
Minutes later, from inside the nest of the Grimes family, she had heard Daryl's muffled voice awkwardly urging Rick upward.

"Sittin' ducks out here, Rick." He reminded. Rick let go of a breathy laugh as he unwrapped his tightly drawn arms from the three smaller forms beneath him. After Rick got his family and Pru to their feet, they'd all made off for the cars. Glenn had reluctantly handed the keys of the CJ over to T-Dog, in favor of taking the roomier, new SUV with Maggie, Herschel, and Beth. Rick gathered his newly reunited family up and deposited them in the massive Suburban, leaving Daryl, Carol, Pru, and T-Dog. Realistically, they would have all fit comfortably in the CJ, but Daryl had fought briefly with T-Dog claiming over his dead body would he leave the only piece of his brother he'd have left. And that the two people with the most weapons should head up and tail end the flock, meaning he and Pru. That had sealed it, quickly, though, when he went to walk back to the machine at the front of the line of waiting vehicles, she'd seen him hesitate for a moment, slowing incrementally and tossing a look back over his shoulder at the car.

Now, just having been shaken awake by T-Dog, she found herself missing the motion of the jeep as it hummed over the road they were on.

"We stopped," the man said as he was pushed his seat forward to allow Carol an escape from the backseat, "C'mon. Everyone's getting out."

She sat up, peering around outside before opening the door and sliding out. It was dusk, and the air was back to being more than just crisp. It was bordering on cold now, by the time the sun went down and the earth had a chance to cool off, it would be uncomfortably such. She zipped her jacket back up around her body and tucked her hand that wasn't occupied with a gun into a pocket.  
"What's up?" she yawned as she scanned the wooded area just beyond the one lane wide road.

"We're just about out of fuel, we're gunna have to stop here for the night until we can come up with a better plan. Go and scavenge in the morning." Rick said.

"There's nothin' here, man. What're we gunna do, just bed down out in the open?" T-Dog asked. She could hear in the man's voice that sleeplessness was wearing on him. It was wearing on everyone. She could see everyone's eyes were glassy and dark ringed. She couldn't have gotten more than a few hours of restless sleep just now, but she felt guilty for it.

"Rick, look where we are. There's walkers everywhere." Glenn protested.

Rick raised his hands defensively, "I know. I know…But this is the only option we have right now. We'll have to have two people on watch while everyone else rests. I know everyone's tired, but it's just for tonight."

"And then what?" Carol demanded, although it was a meek demand. Rick took a moment to organize his words.

"And then tomorrow we find a new place to settle."

Half the faces in their group turned skeptical almost instantly. He looked them over, just as she did.

"We'll find something…I have hope. We were able to find each other. That's gotta count for something." He said quietly, almost pleading now, and that seemed to ebb the doubts for a moment. Everyone who'd just questioned Rick on their next step suddenly became very aware of their feet. There was silence. She found herself looking back to the man toting his crossbow, and noticed that the gears in his head were visibly turning. From nowhere he'd opened his mouth to speak.

"You know we found Randall, right?" he angled his squinting eyes at Rick, "He'd turned, but he wasn't bit."

_What._

And _'what?'_ seemed to be the general consensus.

"How is that possible?" Beth asked, looking to Rick for an answer, causing frustration and uncertainty to paint the man's features back on his face. He paused, struggling to get the words out for the briefest moment, until they come rushing out so matter-of-factly that it felt like someone had dropped a safe on her head.

"It's 'cause we're all infected." He declared stoically. It was Daryl's turn.

"What?" he said incredulously. Rick took a deep breath and tried to explain.

"Jenner told me just before we got out of the CDC that day." He provided. Pru was confused by all this new information. Her brow knit in frustration and she found herself rattling off questions at the man now.

"Who's Jenner?" she began, "…You all came from the CDC? Is that why you're infected?...Am I infected too, now?...When were you guys there?"

Rick put his hands up to slow and calm her words. "Pru…Pru, listen. We're _all_ infected. People. _Everyone _is infected_._"

She was glancing around at everyone else now, looking for answers from anyone, but they all seemed to be recovering from the blow Rick had just dealt with his news, as well.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Carol asked voice unsteady.

"When I found those walkers in the barn, I told _you._" Glenn said angrily.

"I thought it best for the group that I didn't say anything." Rick said eyes now steely. Pru's mouth hung open for a moment before she was able to collect herself. This, though the news was disturbing, didn't change too much of anything. If this information was true, they were still alive, regardless. They just had to be extra careful when and if someone died…_Right?_

She looked to her left, to Daryl. He'd be a good litmus test to gauge the situation with. His face was scrunched into his normal scrutinizing scowl.

There were three possible thoughts that were running through her head, she figured. One, he was just having trouble absorbing the situation, and the full weight of what Rick had said hadn't yet hit him; Two, he had already done what he was going to do with the information. Taken it in, processed it, and suppressed it so he could deal with it in private later; Three, It was fine, and he'd come to the same conclusion that she had. It didn't change anything, except that everyone now had a bullet with their name on it, come the inevitable.

They'd made a small fire off to the right of the road after they'd moved the cars into a less visible spot. Thankfully, they hadn't rolled to a stop in a completely open area. Just off the road was a small, old spill dam. They'd huddled together and built their tiny fire among a ruined pump house. It wasn't a real shelter, but it would have to do.

"Three crumbling walls are better than none", was Herschel's take on the matter.

The remaining survivors were all hushed. A quiet unease had fallen over the group. No one was sure of what would happen next, and she could tell a lot of them were still skeptical of the fact that they'd make it through the night this way. If another horde came through…Well if they didn't manage to make it the twenty or so feet to the vehicles, they we shit out of luck.

She tried to busy her mind with a task. She'd told Rick of how she and Carl had acquired the box of rounds in the liquor store. Immediately, he'd pushed his gun into her hand and asked if she'd be willing to replenish the group's ammo. She collected his, along with Lori's and Carl's guns, and also pulled out both of her handguns, as well as the one she'd taken from the kid in exchange for a new one, Daryl's. She'd set to cleaning and refilling the clips one by one with her thin hoodie, which she'd peeled off for the task. She'd not have anyone's gun jam up or misfire when it counted most.

There were just enough bullets in the box and at the bottom of her bag to fill almost all of the guns up all the way. She'd opted to take care of her own weapons last, and only filled one of their magazines completely. Someone else needed those bullets a hell of a lot more than she did, as she was still armed to the teeth. Beside her guns she'd had her slingshot, with both bolts and rocks to use for ammo, her boot knife, and the crossbow, though Carol was currently in possession of it since it had ended up in the back seat of the jeep with her before.

Carol, who was now sitting across from her on the other side of the tiny fire pit, speaking in hushed tones to_ him_.

She was unable to hear their quiet conversation, though she could see him shooting her disbelieving glares over the small flames that were licking up at the sky. She slid the mag back into the last gun and replaced her silencer as she stared across the flames. Her eyes roved over his tired face as he talked at Carol. Whatever she'd said to him had him grunting with a confused scowl. She tried reading his lips, finding that ultimately, she wasn't getting anywhere with it and that with every syllable his lips formed, something was tugging harder and harder in her chest.

He snapped his head around to face her suddenly, probably feeling her gaze tearing at his mouth. She averted her eyes just as she'd heard something shifting in the forest beyond the stone walls they'd sought refuge in. She along with Daryl and Carol were on their feet in an instant, Daryl and Pru, because of quick reflexes, Carol because of nerves.

"What was that?" Carol gasped.

"It's probably nothing." Rick said trying to reassure the jumpy woman as he looked to the pair standing with their weapons drawn, silently ordering them not to go past the confines of the walls to investigate. Carol looked back and forth between Rick and Daryl twice and then looked to Pru.

"You're not even gunna go see if there's something out there?" she whispered.

"Shh!" he hissed, turning fix Carol with a glare. Carol stumbled a bit, visibly taken aback by Rick's sudden change in demeanor.

"You have to do something. We can't just wait for one of them to just stagger ov-"

"Nobody's going anywhere!" he snapped, though he managed to keep his voice at a dangerous growl that had even Pru and Daryl recoiling a bit, "I'm trying to keep you people safe!"

"We're not safe if we're just sitting here waiting to be ambushed!" Carol pleaded, looking back over to Daryl again. Daryl lowered his bow, signifying that he'd made his decision, though Pru kept her gun drawn, just in case.  
"I'm keeping this group together. _Alive_. I've been tryin' to do that all along, no matter what…I killed my best friend for you people for Christsakes!" Rick argued.  
That got her to lower her weapon. She blinked, but still said noting, not daring to push or challenge him at this point.  
Acutely, his anger boiled over completely, and he turned to snarl at every member of the group. It was as if the final thin thread that had held the man together had snapped, causing him to plummet to Hell, and now he was rising back up through it to spew fire and acid onto the innocent members of the group.

"I DIDN'T ASK FOR THIS! Any of it! But it's the way it is…And if you don't like it, you can leave," He dared, "But if you're stayin', this isn't a democracy anymore."

His last utterance was absolutely haunting, and it forced a few of the group's members that had risen during the commotion back into a seated position. Rick stood there, staring into each person's eyes, as if daring them to challenge him.

Though she'd only known Rick a few short weeks, their situation forced firm bonds to form quickly. She knew this man. He was a tender, compassionate, and forgiving man, but there was only so much even the most gentle of souls could take before fear, violence, and crushing tragedy would shatter the mind. Her immediate reaction, fear, had dissipated and given way to sympathy and sorrow. She hoped that the normally pragmatic, even-tempered man had only momentarily delved into a realm of insanity and has no plans for making it his permanent state of being.

No one had dared speak after that. Rick's word was now absolute law, and if she was being completely honest with herself, she'd preferred it that way…That took the guess work and melodramatic garbage out of every decision that lay ahead of them.

A silent hour or so later, Rick spoke again. This time his volume and tone were normal, though there was still that harder edge to his words, "Two people are pulling watch duty right now while everyone rests. Five hours each shift."

She watched as Daryl went to stand, being the natural and normally obvious choice for the task, but she beat him to the punch, standing and volunteering information she knew he'd end up hating her for.

"I'll do the first shift. I managed to fall asleep in the car as soon as we got on the road today, so I'm up for it." She paused, "…And I know ya not asking my opinion on the matter, but Daryl and T-Dog both haven't slept in three days, by my count, and should be the first ones allowed to sleep for a full ten hours."

"Fuck that! I'm fi-" Daryl spat at her, standing.

"Daryl." Rick said deadpan, and that was enough to squash his protest. Daryl, who would have, at any other time, become combative in a similar situation, just rolled over and died. T-Dog, too, made no attempt to question the stern look he'd been shot.

"I slept a bit in the car, too." Herschel confessed, and that earned him a nod from Rick.

"Alright, Pru and Herschel have first shift. Glenn and I will take the second," he said firmly, "If anyone has to use the bathroom, go _now_…just on the other side of the wall. And take someone with you. No one gets up in the middle of the night and sets a foot outside this camp."

He looked around, sorting out his game plan in his head. Pru took that time to walk over to one of the portions of crumbling wall opposite where she'd sat. She passed Daryl who sneered angrily at her, much like he had in the first week of knowing him. She ignored his look as best she could, hoisting herself up onto the rocks, so she could perch above everyone as the slept.

"Come morning," Rick continued, "Glenn and I will take the jeep out to scavenge fuel, food, and whatever else we can find. Daryl and Pru, you're in charge of getting everybody fed. Get what you can as quick as you can. T-Dog and Herschel, you'll keep watch over everyone else until they get back…We all clear?"

No one ventured a protest or a comment. No one said a word, still. With that, he nodded and moved to sit down. Pru thought it odd how he didn't immediately move to bed down with his family, briefly, but then figured that his distance was probably in both their and his best interest, right now.

A few people shuffled off to do as Rick had said and empty themselves of any waste before they lost their chance. The invisible doors of the dilapidated, roofless structure were about to close for the night. She settled in atop her makeshift lookout tower, and silently cursed herself for having cleaned all the guns before. Now she'd just be left alone with her thoughts for half the night.

Thoughts of their next move and where it may take them.

Thoughts of her lost friend.

Thoughts of him and what she'd say to him in the morning…


	22. Chapter 22

**One of my favorite chapters to do so far. Some of you may call this pay dirt?...Some of you may cry and stomp your feet afterwards. But I'm having fun. So there, haha. I was actually going to keep it going with his POV for a while longer, but it didn't feel right after the first three paragraphs, so...Yes. This is all you get for now.**

**If by now you haven't guessed, my little camping trip has been but on hold until my guy's gallbladder stops falling out. The poor thing has been in bed all week, eating nothing but rice & fucking saltine crackers...Whining about how he misses meat. The point is, there's been a bright side to this, I've been able to collect all my thoughts on what's ahead for our characters, and I've outlined the next few chapters *so they're not just flying out of my ass all willy-nilly like the last three!***

**...That being said, I'm still having trouble with them, haha. So I don't know what to tell you to expect. Derp. All I know is, that Walking Dead marathon is on AMC all next weekend and for once in my fucking life, I don't have to work. So I'll be home watching like a goon, with my phone turned off, and brainstorming & popping off chapters because of all the awesome inspiration.**

**Dear friends, thank you so much for keeping up with my goofy little fic. And thank you to my new readers. Keep reviewing and let me know what you think! I love questions and suggestions! When I get those emails at work saying that you've reviewed or Favorited this story, I get all twitter-pated. Much love. Enjoy friends!- laur =)**

* * *

The holes in his worn boots were letting the thick wet, heavy slush seep in and coat his feet, effectively turning them into blocks of ice. His toes stung as he dashed around the side of the truck, covering his head in an attempt at blocking someone of the sleet and freezing rain from making contact with his scalp. He yanked the rusty door of the truck open and yanked her out into the cold along with him.

"C'mon. We gotta hurry 'fore someone sees us!" he urged as his feet slapped through the cold, icy mess on the ground around them. She tottered behind him, her one wrist clutched in his hand, and the cold fingers of her opposite hand finding and toying with the waistband of his poorly fitting jeans as she stifled a mischievous giggle.

"Hush up!" he scold, though when he turned to her his expression matched hers. He led her up the slick porch of the derelict tar paper shack he called home, and eased the old door open, stepping into the dark living room. He wasn't so worried about anyone hearing when he'd kicked over a stray beer bottle that lay in the middle of the filthy floor. It was Friday night, and he knew his daddy was in town, probably passed out at the bar, and Merle…Well, his big brother was probably where he always was. In bed, face buried between the thighs of some nameless blonde chick or another.

He kicked the bottle out of their path, easing forward quietly towards the hallway, where the light from Merle's open bedroom door shone onto the floor, illuminating the mess of dirty clothes and Budweisers and Buschs that lay opposite the opening. The filth choked the path to his own room, and as they crept to the door, he ventured a look in to make sure they wouldn't be seen.

Yep. Just what he'd figured. Merle was passed out, naked body draped over some skank, with his ass in the air.

"EW!" Tracy giggled and he yanked her forward, just past the doorway, and into his own room. He slapped at the light switch and tossed the door closed behind him, though it wouldn't stay shut. A week prior, he and his brother had gotten into a particularly nasty scrape about some weed he'd pinched from his stash. And Merle knew it, _goddammit_, because the _fucking_ scale told him so.

So when the much younger and scrawnier Daryl had landed a rare, well-placed blow to his huge brother's temple, he managed to scramble away quickly and barricade himself in his room…Until Merle kicked the door in, causing the frame to splinter. Now, closing it was impossible, unless he'd stuffed something between the door, itself, and the frame. His eyes darted around the room quickly for something to jam in there, landing finally on his open bookbag. He reached a hand in, not caring which papers or homework he was about to wad up, and stuck them in the broken space, tossing his weight into it a bit to wedge it shut all the way. There. Closed.

…Though he didn't know why he'd bothered. If Merle woke and saw his door shut with a wad of papers sticking out of it, he was sure his older brother, being the jackass he was, would come snooping around and push the door open easily anyway. Dammit. Too late now. He could only hope that he stayed passed out.

She was on him by the time the door closed, clutching and grabbing at the wet clothes as she kissed him hungrily. He laughed into her mouth victoriously. He'd managed to get them inside without being seen. The rest, well, this was the easy part. The good part.

He pushed her backwards so he could strip off his two sizes too big, soaked denim jacket. Before letting it fall to the floor, he grabbed for the Mason jar full of moonshine he'd got from a friend which was stashed in his pocket. He opened it and took a rough slug from it, some of it running from down his chin, before pressing the mouth of the jar to her lips. It stung his throat. It was like drinking turpentine, but that's what everyone his age did…Drank disgusting, horrible, cheap booze for nothing but the thrill of being able to say they were able to stomach more than the next guy.

He watched as she laughed quietly and winced, struggling to swallow the poison down, then he moved forward and attacked her neck with his mouth. She laughed into his ear and wrapped her arms around his neck, spilling some of the home-stilled liquor down the back of his shirt.

"Watch it!" he laughed into her neck as he began backing her up to push her onto his bed. He kept the area around his bed clutter free, so in that moment he was very thankful to himself they weren't tripping and stumbling as the clumsily moved in tandem. His room was much neater than the rest of the hovel. It wasn't _clean, _of course_, _he was a sixteen year old boy, after all. But whenever his father or brother caught him trying to straighten up, they'd called him a _fairy_ or _faggot. _Both men saw cleaning and keeping things orderly as being a woman's job, and Daryl making any attempt at doing something about the state of their home was joked about at great length.

_Fuck them._

He pushed her lightly down onto the bed and moved his mouth back to hers as his hand slid beneath her freezing, wet sweatshirt. She pushed him off of her abruptly, moving to straddle his lap and yanking her own shirt up over her head in the same motion. He stared up, drinking the sight of her in.

Tracy Foote wasn't the prettiest girl he'd ever seen. Not by a long shot. Her hair was a dirty, mousey-blonde, she had acne scars on her cheeks and forehead, and one of her front teeth sat at an odd angle and was discolored; Dead, she'd told him, from the time when she was nine when the handlebar of her bike had smacked her in the face as she'd fallen. She'd grown up with a background similar to his. Her family was dirt poor like his and her parents, though both were still around, were both abusive. Additionally, because of their poor home lives, their social lives suffered as well.

Wimpy Darlyena Dixon and Athlete's Foote: two poor redneck kids from the trashy outskirts of town. They were a natural pair.

None of that mattered right now, though. All that mattered was that she was topless and in his lap, pulling at the fly of his suddenly too tight jeans. He sat up again as she sipped from the mason jar and put his face to her chest, just as the door to his room was pushed open roughly, slamming into the side of his dresser. The noise startled both of them. The figure that was leaning against the door was smiling sickly from ear to ear. Tracy yelped and rolled off Daryl's lap to cover herself with a pillow.

"Well, looky here! Little Darlyena's finally gettin' himself some tail…" the young man mused loudly to himself.

"Shit, Merle, get _out_!" Daryl squawked.

"Don'chu get mouthy with me, boy! I'll kick yer teeth straight inta the back'a yer throat," he warned. Merle pulled his glare from his younger brother and raked his eyes lecherously over the girl before something obviously dawned on him. That morose smile of his was back.

"I know this chick…" he said waggling his finger at her and then looking back to the boy, "Yer Wade's kid sister, ain'chu? Yeah, Yeah! Yer uh…Ah, whadda they call you?" He snapped his fingers, exaggerating the fact that he was trying to think.

"Shut up, Merle!" Daryl spat, standing now.

"Daryl, don't." Tracy said, groping for his arm.

"Athlete's Foote!" Merle yelled victoriously, slapping at his knee.

"Don'chu call'er that!" Daryl snarled.

"Aww, Baby Brother. You ain't plannin' on fuckin' poor Athlete's Foote in that piss soaked bed'a yers, are you? That ain't no way to treat a lady…Then again, she looks more like someone slapped a pair'a mismatched titties on 'er ugly brother than she do a lady!" Merle laughed uproariously.

Daryl charged into his brother's solid chest hard enough to knock him back into the hallway. They immediately began swinging at each other, but the one who was at a disadvantage in this scrap was very clear. Daryl weighed not much more than half of Merle and was a good six or seven inches shorter, though what he lacked in size he made up for in spirit. He thrashed and kicked at the larger man, and they both sunk to the ground, grappling. It was over suddenly, though, when Merle landed a good clean blow to his face.

His vision swam. Then went black. Then swam again.

"Daryl!...Daryl, wake up, yer Daddy's truck just pulled up the drive!" Tracy's voice pleaded as she cried.

_Daryl…DARYL._

* * *

"Daryl! Wake up, man."

The voice had changed. Still female, but different. Something was nudging at his shoulder now. He blinked his eyes open and forced them to focus on her face.  
_Oh._

"Ya gunna get up, or what?" she smiled quietly. He forced Pru's hand from his shoulder and rubbed at his eyes.

"'M up." He grunted as he brought himself into a sitting position. His body was cold, stiff, and sore from being pushed to the brink of absolute exhaustion and then being allowed to rest uncomfortably in the dirt for hours. He rolled his neck, forcing it to pop a few times and then groaned, feeling a bit less stiff.

Pru stood back to full height and walked away, and he moved his eyes over the scene before him. It was now dawn and most of the other members of the group were beginning to wake. A twinge of uselessness shot through him. He felt it important that he usually made himself one of the first, if not _the _first person in the group up in the mornings. Seeing that Lori and Carol were up before him made him feel guilty, especially since the group was currently without shelter.

He'd tried his hardest to keep himself awake after he was all but ordered to lie down. Half because he felt obligated to keep an eye out for these people, and half out of spite. He didn't like being told when and where to rest, though he didn't protest. He knew their leader, Rick, was at his breaking point last night, and he didn't want to push or provoke his friend any further.

What he liked even less however, was being snitched on. Pru telling Rick that she didn't think he should be on watch because of he hadn't slept had made him furious with her.

_She_ shouldn't have been allowed to stay on watch. Not after two brushes with death and being lost, without anyone but the kid, for a whole day.

He hoisted himself to his feet, grabbed up his crossbow, and strode to Rick's side.

"We'll make this quick." He offered to the former deputy.

Rick nodded, "We'll be gone before you're back, but we'll be back before sundown…They answer to you until then."

_Fucking great._

Something else for him to fuck up. He nodded agreeably anyway, looking over at the group before he fell in step behind Pru.

She'd been quiet, which was grating on his last nerve. He wanted her to talk. He wanted an excuse to go off on her. Any excuse to tell her to shut her mouth because he was angry with her for shouldering more responsibility than she should. For taking over what should have been his watch last night, and for running off into a swarm of walkers the night before that to play fucking hero.

He'd finally gotten his chance when she'd clumsily tripped over a root at the base of a tree. She let out a small yelp and stumbled to her knees. He spun around, spooked a bit by the noise she'd made, and scoffed when he saw her picking herself up.

"Keep yer mouth shut an' watch where the fuck yer goin'." He growled.

"What the fuck is_ your_ problem?" snapped in response. He stomped his way over to her and wrenched her up off the ground by her bicep.

"You," he spat pointing his finger at her accusatorily, "Yer mah fuckin' problem. I don't have time to be watchin' yer ass an' mine, so keep yer wits about'chu or get back'ta that camp with the rest of the women an' those kids."

Her brow furrowed. She took his bait just like a fish on a hook, emitting a wry laugh in an attempt to play it off, but she was very obviously put off by his sudden attack.

"I got me covered, honey. Why don't ya turn the hell around and worry about ya'self." She said as she pulled herself to her feet.

"Why? So you can go tear-assin' off like you did the other night, instead'a stayin' put like you shoulda? Right. Make me waste more'a mah time lookin' for yer ass."

"Nobody told ya to come lookin' for me, Daryl!" she yelled, now completely forgetting their entire reason for being out there, raising her voice and driving off any potential prey, while also drawing potential undesired attention to themselves.

"I went along lookin' fer Rick's boy. Not _you._" He lied venomously. He'd said it with such vitriol that it stung his own lips to just say it.

Something in her eyes broke, just then, though her expression stayed stone and angry. He watched as she balled her fist at her side and he smirked, despite everything that he was feeling.

"Go'head an' hit me, lil' girl. I fuckin' dare you." He laughed, lowering his voice dangerously. This was just like the morning after they'd met. An angry game of Chicken.

She lunged forward as if she might, snarling and growling like a wolverine who was about to fight a bear over a piece of carrion. Her eyes stared daggers into his so hard that they began to hurt. The next pain he felt her inflict was an actual physical one, as opposed to imagined. It was that of her mouth careening into his as she pressed forward with what felt like most of her weight.

His eyes flew open in surprise before slamming shut, pained expression making its way to his features. His teeth dug painfully into the flesh on the inside of his mouth as she moved her lips over his and it caused him to hiss. It took him a moment to register exactly what was happening, and when it finally dawned on him that she was kissing him, he began to reciprocate it just as roughly.

She jerked from his lips suddenly, pushing him back a step, and began to punch and beat at his shoulder with the hand that wasn't currently holding her slingshot and bolt. He'd put up a hand to block her swings and pointed at her again as his eyebrows crept towards his hairline and he grit his front teeth together. The look on his face was warning as he moved forward again. His accusing hand darted out suddenly to wrap around the back of her neck and he pulled her back into the kiss, matching the intensity from before.

She parted her lips and moaned into his open mouth, going willingly limp in his grasp, now. He felt her freezing cold, free hand fall gently to his face and he pulled back slowly, opening his eyes to look upon her. Hot, quick puffs of steam rose up into the chilly morning air from both of their mouths as he watched her green-amber eyes fluttered back open. His heart lurched and surged in his chest, like someone flooring the gas pedal in a racecar. They both studied each other's faces for a long moment before going back to enjoying the feeling of their mouths moving together.

It was slower now. More deliberate and explorative. Less angry and frantic, though just as deep, and with just as much emotion behind it. He moved his mouth from hers and tipped her head back with the hand that was still at the back of her neck, refocusing his energy there for a bit, causing her breath to hitch. He stopped and brought his lips to her ear.

"I didn't mean that," He breathed, "…What I said."

She let slip the smallest of laughs and brought his eyes back to hers.

"…You are crazy as a shithouse rat, though. You know that, right?" he smiled. The look coupled with the insult made her chuckle a bit louder, and she pulled him back to her, wrapping her arm around his neck, planting a kiss there, and holding him close.

A hug. No one had hugged him since, well, Tracy had all those years ago. Not truly. Women had hung off him since then. He wasn't a stranger to physical contact. They'd drunkenly clutched their arms around his neck or waist to steady themselves, or hoist themselves up so their hips could meet in a filthy bathroom stall in a shitty bar. Not out of want or need for emotional contact, however…Never more than just physical. But this hug…This embrace was much more than physical, and when he finally wrapped his mind around it, the floor dropped out from under him.

Instantly, he couldn't help but feel that the dream he'd woken from about an hour ago was a foreshadowing. Everything he'd every loved or cared about had been taken from him. Chased off. Killed... Suddenly he tore himself away from the emotional contact, setting his eyes back to their normal, intimidating scowl.

_That's right, Baby Brother…C'mon back. She'll make you weak…Ain't no pussy in the world good enough to loose yer life over._

He shook his head and grit his teeth. The look on his face was that of worry mixed with disgust.

"I can't…_We_ can't do this, Pru." He said quietly. She looked puzzled, moving forward just slightly in attempt to catch his face and still him again.

"Do what?" she asked. He shrunk away from the hand that was about to stroke at his jaw.

"This. Me n' you," He said, finally pulling himself out of the lust induced stupor, raising his bow up and gazing around warily at their unchecked surroundings, "Ain't nothin' good gunna come of this."

She scoffed as he backed away, "Why are ya acting like this?"

"Because whatever this is…Whatever just happened is gunna make us stupid," he said firmly as he shook his head. He snorted before continuing, "Look around. It's already happenin'. The fuck are we doin' standin' in the middle of the woods, sloppin' all over each other's faces? We're lucky we didn't just have a shit-ton of geeks tear inta are asses while we weren't payin' attention!" he said angrily as he started to walk off.

"It didn't happen, though, Daryl! We're fine!" she tried to reason, following behind him. He stopped abruptly and turned back to her.

"We ain't _fine._ Ain't nothin' _FINE…_A huge chunk'a our group got ate in the last two days, girl! Ain't nothin' _fine_ 'bout that, and ain't nothin' ever gunna be _fine_ again. An' I ain't willin' to get myself killed over getting' mah dick wet once or twice."

That last bit he hadn't meant. It wasn't him. He'd said what had floated to the surface of his mind, but he hadn't even realized the gravity or he implications of what he'd said until it spilled from his yap like run off from a sewer.

_GODDAMMIT, Merle!_

He watched as her eyes started to water, and he felt like someone had just run his buck knife across his stomach, spilling his guts to the floor. He couldn't stand it. He turned around, to hide his face from her, feeling like a complete bag of shit, and he called to her over his shoulder.

"C'mon. We got shit to get done. We're just wastin' time standin' here."

He waited until he stopped hearing her take in unsteady breaths before he started to walk away with her following in silence.

Two grouse would have to do. He'd spotted the plump female and her nearly mature offspring settled in a thicket. He'd motioned for her to follow his line of sight. It was the first time he'd more than merely looked back at her to make sure she was still there since he'd gone off on her. She came to squat next to him and he silently pointed out which one she was to take. She just nodded, didn't even look over to acknowledge him. If he wasn't so dead set on getting the job done, he would have winced at her cold shoulder.

They took the birds out simultaneously and when dead came for them, she swooped in, retrieved them from the ground, and yanked the bolts out, tossing his back at him. It fell short of his grasp and as he bent to pick it up, she pushed past him.

"I'm going back." She announced.

"Yeah." He found was all he could reply with.

The walk back had taken them an hour and a half. They'd had to go pretty deep into the woods after spooking every animal in the forest out from underneath them with their raised voices. When they'd gotten back, she'd walked immediately to the center of the crumbled walls, not saying a word, and plopped herself down next to the fire to begin tearing the feathers from the dead birds.

He'd reached the group a minute later and found all eyes on him. He looked around at all of them, taking in their questioning glances, and then looked to Pru. She was sitting, hunched over, ripping the feathers from the bird so roughly, that little pieces of flesh were coming with them. He growled a sigh and stomped over to her, grabbing the bird out of her hands before she could ruin it anymore. She flew to her feet along with the game bird and went to snatch it back from him. He pulled it out of her reach, putting it behind his back.

"Stupid." He nodded angrily, though his chest felt like it was being torn apart from the inside out. Why did she have to go ahead and prove his point? She looked as if she wanted to hit him again, only this time, instead of looking just angry, he really felt as if the rage in her eyes would have made her capable of tearing him limb from limb with her bare hands. This chick, when she was angry, probably would have even given his daddy a run for his money in the menacing department.

She turned on her heel and marched out of the surrounding walls, and he watched her as she took her anger out on the ground beneath her feet all way to the bank of the creek that they'd settled by. He nearly crushed the neck of the grouse he was holding on to, but stopped himself, thinking better of it. He gathered the other up off the ground before passing them off to Carol who, like the others, was staring up at him with wide-eyed confusion.

"WHAT?" he challenged looking around at everyone. They all averted their eyes. All except Carol. He stepped past the fire and over to her, handing the birds over to her.

"Take care'a these, will you?" he asked gruffly before stomping away himself. He needed to get away. He also needed to stick close in case anything came staggering into the area. He did the only thing he could do to escape, moved behind the ruined stone wall and slumped there.

He'd messed things up. He'd messed them up, but it was for the best. _Wasn't it?_ He'd made whatever she felt for him dissipate with a few words. He'd saved her with those words, and now he was going to set himself to the arduous task of bricking the wall, which had slowly been coming over the past month or so, back up, piece by piece.

He'd not allow these odd, sentimental feelings to to be mistaken for more than what they were. He'd not allow them to die over this.


	23. Chapter 23

**Heading down a completely new road here! Also, an old friend! Pru right now can't decide what to make of Daryl and the way he acted, and she finds herself coming back and forth between really struggling to make sense of it, not being upset about it, and wanting to completely write him off. WHAT TO DO, PRU? WHAT TO DO?**

**Old friends and new, thank you reading, reviewing, and adding to your Favorites. It means so much! If you have any questions or comments, let me know! Enjoy! -Laur**

**I own NOTHING. The Walking Dead is way too cool to have come from me.**

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Maggie had followed her out to the lip of the dam a few short moments after she and Daryl had it out in front of everyone, only to be sent back with words, none to kind, being tossed after her. Pru wasn't in the mood to be pandered to or patronized. She heard Maggie shout something along the lines of _"worse than him" _or _"temper like him"_ or something, and it only made her feel worse. She'd always been guilty of having a horrible temper, but she really didn't need to be reminded of it right now, especially by being compared to Daryl Dixon.

Regret, embarrassment, resentment, and absolute rage coursed through her veins in turns. Sometimes switching off, sometimes running together to paint some sick mural of negative emotion. She sat there for hours berating herself and second guessing what she'd done to have set him off…What she'd done to ruin things.

And then her mind went to him and what he'd said and done, and she suddenly found herself outraged. He didn't get to say things like that to her, dammit. He didn't get to hurt her like that. Not when he'd been one of the strongest voices in her head while she was on the back of that horse with Carl and while she was on that fence, fighting tooth and nail to keep them safe. Now the voice that had been in her head, telling her to keep going, telling her that he'd find her, was telling her to fuck off. Her heart ached, and it made her nauseous.

Was that, honestly, all he thought of her? The possibility of some rushed fuck out in the woods?

_Of course it was._

Why the fuck would he be any different than most of the shitty men she'd known in her life. Somehow her mind had twisted and perverted his thoughts of her in on themselves, fabricating some grandiose emotional connection that didn't exist. She'd been projecting the entire time. His feelings for her, other than lust, had never existed. Would never exist. He'd said it himself.

_Stupid._

In her mind, she'd deserved what she'd gotten…Maybe not just this time. Maybe every time. She was a stupid, naïve, girl. A fool with a crush, and a fool for thinking she'd finally found someone who'd not hurt her or try not to break her spirit.

A twig snapped somewhere behind her and she whirled around, more out of reflex, than out of self-preservation. There stood Carol, hand held out with a charred grouse drumstick clutched there, other arm clinging to the macramé sweater she wore, trying to keep as warm as possible now that she was away from the fire. Her expression was a bit defiant, if Pru had to describe it. The short-hair woman merely stood in silence and offered her the food.

"I'm not hungry." Pru groaned as she tried to dial down her want to snap at this woman, too. She wiped at the tears on her face that had long dried up, looking around at the area and realizing how far in the sky the sun had climbed. She'd been sitting here for hours. Was it seriously past noon?

"When was the last time you've had something to eat?" Carol asked softly, eliciting a quiet, tired chuckle from Pru.

"Please don't Mama Hen me, right now, Carol. I'm really not up for it."

Carol sighed and moved closer, bringing herself to sit down onto the damp ground just in front of Pru, causing her to look up with an eyebrow cocked.

"C'mon, now. Eat it. If only because we can't throw anything away. Everyone else has had their fill…Do you really want to waste it?" She prodded.

Pru groaned, backed into a corner by Carol's logic. She took the drumstick and began picking it apart, slipping small pieces of the cold, greasy meat into her mouth begrudgingly. Her lack of appetite combined with the charred, over cooked, and gamey taste of the bird was making it particularly difficult to swallow down, but she managed anyway. She looked back to Carol, who wasn't even paying attention now. She was off, somewhere else in her mind, while she was running her eyes over the water in front of them.

Carol finally broke the silence a few moments later, as Pru sat sucking on the cartilage of the leg, catching her off guard.

"He says things sometimes…He doesn't mean them."

That got Pru's attention. She looked back up to the other woman and tossed the bone over her shoulder, trying her best to set her eyes to some kind of warning glare.

"I'd really prefer not to talk about this shit right now."

"Well, you don't have to talk, just listen…Please," she said. The firmness behind her words was unlike anything she'd heard from her up until pretty recently. If anything kept Pru involved in the conversation, it wasn't Carol's insistence, but rather the curiosity that Carol had evoked from her with her seemingly new found voice.

"I don't know what just happened, but…I think you know him well enough to understand how he works…The more frightened he is, the worse the things that come out of his mouth are."

She felt her eyes beginning to water again.

"Did he send ya over here?"

"No," she smiled genuinely, "Do you honestly think he would?...You needed to eat…And you needed to know that he does care about you, whether he's ready to admit to it, or not."

Pru laughed derisively in response, "Yeah, well, whether he cares or not doesn't even matter at this point. I want a fuckin' apology…Or I want to stab him. I haven't really decided yet."

"You'll get an apology. I can't guarantee it'll be in the form of an actual, _I'm sorry_, but you'll get one." Carol assured. Pru was silent for a moment, taking in the offered advice.

Carol had known Daryl for much longer than she had. Not much longer, in the grand scheme of things, certainly, but at least a few months or so longer. A month now, an increment of time which was just as good as an eternity. He'd been around for the death of her husband, she'd been around for the loss of his brother, he'd been there when they'd lost her Sophia…He'd searched for her. Tirelessly, she'd found out. Nearly died twice in one day while looking, then tried to go out and do it again.

There was an unspoken bond there, between them; a tentative bond, but a definite one. The polar ends of a magnet. One was brash, impulsive, outwardly confident, and inwardly unsure of everything. The other was reserved, pensive, outwardly meek and inwardly stronger than most anyone she'd known in her life, before or after the world had ended.

If anyone would know one person in their life, it would be their reflection, and Carol Peletier was a Daryl Dixon's reflection. Carol knew this, and Pru could see it in her eyes. She could see her solid certainty.

Pru watched as she pulled herself from the ground and dusted herself off, before speaking again.

"…And if I don't want one?" she paused before clarifying,"...An apology?"

Carol stopped, turning back to Pru to regard her, seriously.

"He's a good man, Prudence. " she said before giving her the smallest of smiles, and turning to make her way back to the rest of the group. Pru watched as Carol walked away and caught a flash of him as he paced between the low fire and the broken wall in the distance, and suddenly felt a bit guilty.

What had happened that morning and the conversation between her in Carol had still been very fresh in her mind, and she'd sat, still going over it all for a long time afterwards. She still didn't know exactly what to make of anything Carol had said, and she still didn't know the reason for his outburst in the first place. She also wasn't convinced that she'd be able to forgive him…His sulphourous remarks had stung so very badly.

She was pulled back to their current situation by the sound of a familiar engine approaching. When she turned her attention to the road, she saw her old CJ pulling off the road, and onto the grass next to where the rest of the group was waiting. She gathered herself up and went back to the temporary camp to see what, if anything, Rick and Glenn had found out on their jaunt.

When she reentered the group, the mix of the people that had witnessed her exchange with Daryl greeted her. A few looked hesitantly apologetic, Maggie scowled, no doubt because she'd sent her away before shouting profanities for trying to comfort her, some averted their eyes all together in favor of helping Glenn and Rick deal with what they'd found. Carol looked at her with that small, reassuring smile. She briefly found herself seeking his form out. He was already over to the jeep hauling a gas can out of it and over to the Suburban.

A bag of trail mix found its way into her hands by way of Glenn. She looked at it as if was an alien, and back tracked in her steps to hand it over to Carl and Lori. She pulled her attention back to their tired leader, realizing there was no welcome to be had from the man's family as he'd returned. Something was going on with the normally loving and affectionate Grimes family. It probably had to do with Rick's sudden change, though she wasn't about to say something. She had enough on her plate currently.

"So?" T-Dog asked bringing a slightly thicker jacket over to Carol, "Ya'll find anything aside from this stuff?"

Rick walked towards the center of the circle, standing almost on top of the fire, eyeing it.

"If you mean a place, then no, we didn't," Rick sighed. The crestfallen group stilled and muttered amongst themselves before he continued, "…But we got enough gas together to get the rest of the vehicles to a place where we can fill them all up, and then keep moving."

"Rick," Herschel began, "We've gotta come up with a plan. We need to get these people off the road."

Rick nodded solemnly, eyes cast to the fire, and he flicked a small twig that he'd been holding into it. "Workin' on it, Herschel."

The group grew silent again. It was obvious everyone was working their minds for some sort of answer to their problem. A place that was large enough to accommodate them, see them through the winter, hold up against another horde…It would be a difficult find.

"Well…How 'bout a school?" Beth ventured, "Schools are big and have kitchens and locker rooms…There would be enough room for us in a place like that."

Rick shook his head, "We need to stay out of the towns and cities. Going back would mean more walkers…But that's along the lines we need to be thinking."

Pru nodded to Beth to reassure her before turning her gaze elsewhere. It was a good suggestion, honestly. She found herself looking back to the water that rushed over the dam, drawn by the sound of the water.

_Water._

_Creek. Pond…No, bigger. River. Lake…LAKE._

"We need a lake." She muttered. It was so soft it was barely audible.

"A what?" Rick asked straining to hear her.

"A lake. We need to back ourselves up to water," she said a bit louder as she gestured back over her shoulder with her thumb, "It would be pretty great to only have to watch three sides while having an escape route at our backs. I don't think those assholes are much for recreational swimming…"

Rick nodded, "It's a good idea, but we can't stay here…Even if we had-"

"No, dammit. I mean we need to look for something _else_ that butts up against a lake," she said rolling her eyes.

The crowd grew quiet again for too long. When Rick and Glenn had returned, everyone had risen to their feet in anticipation of news, but now they were beginning to sink back to their seats, hope dwindling with the lack of immediate answers provided.

"Sonovabitch…" Daryl uttered suddenly. Rick snapped around, hand settled on the butt of his pistol, fearing the man had just seen something worthy of an alert. Instead, he realized that the hunter had been struck by a possible idea.

"You know a place?" their leader asked.

"Maybe," Daryl nodded, "'Bout how long we drive yesterday, an' in what direction?...We still gotta map, right?"

She watched as Glenn nodded and dropped the blankets he'd been holding to run back to where the cars were parked.

"What are you thinkin'?" Rick asked resting his arm upon his trusted friend's shoulder. It was a gesture Rick seemed to do more and more frequently now. It wasn't perfunctory gesture, either. With Dale and now Shane gone, Daryl had been solidified as Rick's go-to. The significance of that hand laid on his shoulder had become a literal sharing of a burden. What was more significant to it all was Daryl's willingness to accept the weight, the responsibility, the trust, and most of all, the respect being dealt unto him.

She watched reluctantly from the corner of her eye as Daryl bolstered himself to speak to the group, running his idea up the flagpole. She'd not give him her full attention. He didn't deserve that right now. She would, however, listen for her own sake, and the sake of their group.

"There's a ranger station…It's in'a corner'a the Chattahoochee…By where me an' Merle grew up. Used'a go huntin' up that way all the time...," he paused to scratch at the back of his head. His movements indicated his lack of confidence in his suggestion.

"Got collared once fer illegal huntin'…Took me to that station. Inside…It's pretty big. Plen'y room, kitchen…Everythin' a house would have fer when them rangers get snowed in or sumpin'…There'll be a generator, fuel supply…Hopefully guns…An' a fire tower, so we can keep a lookout…An' it's right onna lake."

With the completion of his explanation, she felt his eyes land on her. She felt a twinge of guilt somewhere in her gut because she could tell, somehow, that his gaze was softer than normal, if a bit sheepish. She kicked at an ember that had tumbled from the fire stubbornly. He'd get no acknowledgement from her. As far as she was concerned, he didn't currently exist. Or at least that was what she was chanting over and over in her head.

Instead, she brought her eyes back to their leader in time to see him draw in a deep breath of relief as Glenn charged back into the circle, handing the map over to both Rick and Daryl. Daryl took the folded bit of paper, opened it, and ran his glaring eyes over the crosshatching roads, highways, rivers, and cities marked on it.

"We know where we're at yet?" he asked Rick and Glenn without lifting his eyes.

"I saw a sign while we were driving," Glenn said nudging Rick's shoulder a bit, "We're a few miles north of, uh…Summerville, I think."

"Meaning we just drove around in circles for hours, yesterday." Herschel added. That pulled an abrupt nod from Daryl.

"Figured as much," Daryl muttered under his breath, "S'good, though. Should only be…Maybe two an'a half hours drive east of here…Should get there just 'fore dusk if we hurry our asses up."

A few people started acting restless, obviously waiting for Rick's cue to get moving. Rick pulled his eyes from the map to regard Daryl, seriously.

"You sure about this place, Daryl?" he asked.

Daryl bristled a bit, and his familiar gruff tone replaced the more even he'd been using for the last few minutes, "Sure as shit, man. Place was practically mah backyard. I know where the hell we're goin'."

That seemed to do it for Rick. With that, he nodded his thanks to the other man and turned to address the rest of them.

"Alright, Daryl, you'll follow me and Glenn's to where we found some fuel to fill the tanks up all the way. After that, you head us up. Right now, I want the driver of every vehicle over here with the map. Learn the route in case we get split up…That way, we can regroup there if something happens… Everybody else, get everything together, start moving to the cars."

Instantly, everyone began to mobilize. She strode up to the men holding the map, coming to a stop next to Glenn. T-Dog had settled next to Daryl, opposite her. She cocked an eyebrow at him. The burly man looked at her for a moment before sighing and tossed her keys back to her.

"Better call shotgun before Carol gets the jump on ya, honey." She winked at him.

"Yeah. Right." He countered before walking off to the cars.

It was an easy ten minute drive from where they'd stopped to where they were going to fill up and try to scavenge a bit more. Another small town, very similar to the that she and Carl had sought shelter in. Rick had driven the old Suburban into the packed parking lot of an old church. It was clear that when things started to go badly in this small community, that its members had sought refuge in their faith. The lot was full of abandoned cars that had been packed to the gills with supplies as well as bodies. Corpses also littered the ground around them.

She pulled the keys from the ignition and handed them back to Carol. The other woman nodded, grasping what Pru had said to her wordlessly. T-Dog opened his door and quietly stepped out, and she followed, meeting him, Glenn, Maggie, Rick, and Daryl by the front bumper of the Greene's SUV.

"Fill the trucks first. Then go back through the cars and see about pulling anything we can use…Food, clothes, whatever…Take it," Rick whispered as he turned back to Daryl, "Then we'll take care of the bike."

They broke apart once they had their orders. No longer than ten minutes. Fill up. Pick over. Get the hell out of there. Easy-peazy. And it was. Everything had gone smoothly. They managed to siphon at least twelve gallons into the jeep before moving on to picking through the cars. T-Dog pulled a few suitcases from the capped bed of the pickup along with a loose hoodie, a small pillow, and a pink women's backpack. Pru found herself begging whatever would listen for there to be wonderful things like deodorant, soap, and razors in it. She grabbed the loose items from T-Dog and turned back to the car, opening the door to pass the spoils in to Carol. However, when she opened the door, she discovered that the backseat was empty.

"Shit! SHIT!" she said looking around.

"Quiet!" T-Dog snapped, "What the hell-" He stopped dead in his tracks upon seeing the empty car.

Where the hell would she have gone? And why? Wasn't it clear that she was supposed to stay put? Pru spun around looking through the lot and the surrounding area for anything that would tell her where the woman had gotten off too. T-Dog pushed past her, shoving the suitcases in so he could pull his shot gun back from where it rested in the front passenger seat. He side stepped around her again, moving to the front of the car, and she backed behind him.

"Rick," T-Dog called quietly as he walked around the bumper to the back of Daryl's bike, "Rick, we got a problem."

Daryl, hose in mouth, paused with a grim, angry frown while Rick slowly turned his blank, watchful stare into a look that said exactly what was on his mind.

_Dear god, what NOW?_

"Carol's not in the jeep." Pru said hesitantly.

"GODDAMMIT!" Daryl yelled slamming the hose down to the ground.

"Shut up! Dammit!" Rick snarled, "Weren't you watchin'?"

"No, we weren't fucking watching! She's a grown woman! I figured _stay in the car _didn't need to be spelled out." Pru bit back.

Daryl was off before she'd finished talking, leaving an angry Rick to run a hand over his face. The poor man couldn't catch a break. He drew his gun and moved to follow Daryl.

"You two go 'round the other side of the church. She couldn't have gotten too far."

T-Dog grabbed Pru by the shoulder and they moved off in the opposite direction. She pulled a gun free from her holster and they crept along the filthy side of the old church house. Leaves crunched under their feet in the over grown grass as they went. She could hear T-Dog breathing heavily as he followed behind. She wasn't used to working with such a large body at her back and it made her tense. Daryl's presence wasn't as cumbersome as T-Dog's.

When they rounded the side of the old building, she saw a massive evergreen a few yards off from the back of the church. Behind it, she could just barely make out a pale shape. She could tell by the way the form moved that it was Carol, but for some reason, the movements were staggered.

It was then she heard him call out from the other side of the church. It was an angry, strangled, desperate cry.  
"Carol, no!"

Her blood ran cold for an instant before she sprinted out through the open church yard just behind Daryl. As she rounded the huge tree, she saw Carol standing just feet from a walker. It registered to Pru as she ran forward, that the walker had been a little girl in life. She was about ten years old and wore a bloody, purple sundress, with blonde shoulder length hair. She'd been told what Carol's daughter had looked like, and could only assume now that that's what had drawn her to this lone walker; the likeness to her little girl. The walkers, however, was very obviously dead. She'd been dead for so long now that her skin was no longer a sickly pale grey, but a foul green and it had begun to bubble and tear away in some places.

Carol, at Daryl's insistent cries, had apparently begun to come around and slowly started backing away from the lunging cadaver. As Pru raised her gun to fire, however, to her horror, from the woods, three darker, larger figures slowly appeared. Their more menacing presence pulled her gun up, away from the little girl walker, and at that moment, the hooded figure in the center began to draw a long, slim blade up from its side. This was no walker. This was another survivor. And this other survivor, who'd chained two limbless walkers to their sides, was about to come at them with a sword, of all fucking things.

From the corner of her eye, Pru saw that Daryl had finally reached Carol and was pulling her back and away from the scene just as the hooded figure dropped the chains and began to charge out towards them. She aimed, but could not, for some unholy reason, will her finger to squeeze the trigger. It was as if the person moving towards her with purpose was a talisman, hypnotizing and freezing her where she stood.

_So this is how I go out._

A good, quick death, she bargained. And if not quick, it would be an interesting death, at the very least.

The sword came rushing down, cutting into the walker child's skull, spilling rotting brain matter and filth to the floor. Everything grew deathly silent again. Silent, except for Carol's quiet crying. Pru stood there blinking for a moment.

"You do know those things aren't afraid of guns, right?" came the voice from under the hood. The voice was steady, deliberate, and very feminine. The woman pulled the hood from her head, and Pru was shocked by the beautiful face before her. The woman's skin, eyes, and hair were a deep, rich color and she stood looking upon Pru with an eyebrow quirked incredulously.

"Wh-What?" was all she could respond with. She felt a hand on her back then, and it brought her adrenaline back down. It was Rick, and he seemed to be taking stock of the woman.

"Can you put that gun down now?" the new woman asked her.

"No," Rick answered tersely before she could get a word out, pointing his own gun at her and cocking it, "No, not until we know you're not a threat."

The strange woman smiled and returned the sword to its sheath and slowly dipped to place it on the ground. When she locked eyes with the man just at her own back again, her smile was wider and perhaps even a bit mischievous. A smug, mischievous smirk. The next thing out of the woman's mouth almost completely knocked them off their feet.

"So are you Shane, or Rick?"

The gun that Rick had produced just over her shoulder lowered shakily after hearing the question. Pru stayed stock, keeping her gun trained on the stranger, but she pulled her head to the side to gauge Rick's reaction. His mouth was open as he eyed the woman warily, and his chest was rising and falling erratically. Pru then turned, still searching for reassurance, and allowed herself a look at Daryl. For the first time all day, she tried to meet his eyes with her own, but as he crouched on the ground, arm protectively wrapped around Carol, his eyes too, were locked on the woman before them, and he looked absolutely boggled.

"H-how do you know who we are?" Rick asked suspiciously. The woman laughed then, and softened her stance.

"Alright," she called over her shoulder, back towards the direction she'd come. For a second, Pru thought she was addressing the mangled walkers that were limping about just behind her, "C'mon out now. They're good and confused!"

At that, the bushes at the edge of the forest parted a bit and produced a familiar blonde figure. Pru's breath caught at the sight of the apparition, and lost the grip on her gun, allowing it to slip from her hands and fall to the ground. She drew her hands up to cover her mouth as she felt the beginnings of tears stinging her eyes. She was sure she was hallucinating what she was seeing. Andrea had died. Daryl said she had.

"Andrea?" Rick asked softly. The man was obviously questioning his own eyes, too. But the utterance of her name was conformation enough for Pru. With that, she darted forward, racing toward her lost friend.

"Oh god!" she gasped as she ran. Andrea met her half way, arms out stretched, and they collided so hard they nearly knocked the wind from each other's lungs as they embraced, toing the fine line between relieved laughter and tears of joy.

"How-?" Pru asked after a few moments, pulling away to look upon her friend's face, "They said…Daryl told me ya were dead!"

"I ain't said she were dead, " Daryl corrected indignantly as he escorted Carol over, "I meant we didn't know what happened."

Pru turned and shot him a fiery glare. How could he just let her make assumptions as to what happened? He returned her glare with one of his own, before curtailing it in favor of studying his feet as he walked over. It was then Carol's turn to slam into Andrea, throwing her arms around her.

"Thank god you're safe!" Carol cried, "I felt awful…Knowing you'd saved me, and then-"

"Shhh," Andrea interrupted as she ran her hand comfortingly along Carol's back, "It's alright…If it weren't for Michonne…"

Andrea pulled from Carol's grip enough to look to the strange woman just as Rick came to lay a friendly hand on her shoulder. She smiled at him and then T-Dog before her eyes moved back to the new woman, causing everyone's gaze to follow in turn.

"Guys, this is Michonne." She introduced, "She saved my ass."

Michonne gave a quick nod, but not much else. It was very obvious that she was wary of them. No one would fault or blame her for that, though. Especially not now. Not after that run in with Randall's group. Other survivors were just as dangerous, if not more so, than the walkers had become. It was only right to be suspicious of anyone new.

"Thank you," Rick said warmly as he offered her his hand, old tone and friendly way of speaking coming back into his voice, "Thank you for saving her life."

Michonne returned the gesture and nodded again, "Can I have my sword back now?"

"She's harmless," Andrea laughed, vouching for her new friend, "Unless you're a walker."

As if on cue, Pru felt a presence at her back. She whipped around only to be greeted by the gaping, jawless maw of an armless walker.

"JESUS FUCK!" she yelled pushing off the thing's putrid chest and reaching for her second gun.

"Don't waste the bullet. They can't hurt you. I've made sure of that." Michonne assured as she retrieved her katana from the overgrown grass. The smile now on her lips was morose.

"Fucked up." Daryl allowed as he eyeballed the chained monster. The second was staggering around by a clearly uncomfortable T-Dog. Michonne made a fretting noise with her mouth and moved to grab up the end of its chain leash, so as to reel it back into her.

"Sorry." She said, "They allow me to move around more freely through clusters. They must mask my scent."

"That's all well n' good, lady, but they ain't comin' along for the ride with us if you plan on stickin' around." Daryl stated.

"Ride?" Andrea asked, "Where were you guys headed?"

"Daryl knows a place up in the hills. A rangers' station…We only stopped to gather what supplies we could before making the trip out that way." Rick explained.

"Hills, huh?" Andrea smiled at Daryl, "Why am I not surprised?"

Daryl sneered, though it was obvious that his anger wasn't sincere, "Shit was better with you gone, Blondie."

Pru couldn't help but smile at that. He was happy Andrea was safe, even if he wouldn't say so word-for-word, he managed to express it in way that was very typically him.

"Alright, enough, kids." Rick chided, though he wore the first smile Pru had seen from him in a day, "Michonne, you're more than welcome to join us, but Daryl, there, is right. I'm gunna have to insist that you, uh…Take care of your _friends _before we head back to the cars."

"Right." She said flatly as she turned and drew her sword. She jammed the blade into the eye of the sick pet that was closest. As it slumped to the ground, she had already managed to behead the second. This woman's reflexes were like lightning, and she handled the sword as if she were born with it in her hand. Everyone stood staring in quiet amazement for a moment.

"Well," Andrea interrupted, "Are we going, or what?"

With that, the group pulled their heads back to the game plan and began to make their way back to the lot around the front of the church. Andrea's arm was still looped around Carol's waist, and Pru felt her grab for her arm and she smiled. As the three walked together, Pru turned to T-Dog.

"Ya mind if the girls ride with me?" she smiled. He lifted his arms in surrender and laughed.

"Have at it, girl. Ya'll are too damn much woman for me. I'll hop in with Rick."

Immediately after T-Dog had finished talking, she felt something press into her left arm. The one not currently entwined with Andrea's. She turned to see Daryl walking along side of her, and in his hand, the gun she'd dropped before. He held it to her, offering it back.

She snatched it from his grip roughly and jammed it back into her holster before picking up the pace and striding past him all together. She heard a frustrated growl escape him and found herself not giving a rat's ass.

"Pru." Carol pleaded in a whisper as they walked quickly ahead of him. She merely shook her head in response.

"What did I miss?" Andrea asked hesitantly.

"I'll tell ya in the car." She sighed.


	24. Chapter 24

**Well, I would have posted this one a lot earlier, but you guys can thank Mother Nature and her raging bitch attitude for that one. While I was at work the other day, a huge storm plowed through the state, and left pretty much everyone in the dark for the last two days. I got lucky. My electricity never went out, but my cable and internet has been spotty since. WHOMP WHOMP. And here is my ungrateful ass, complaining about what I don't have, when I should be thankful for what I do. I am a stellar person.**

**Anyway, what's this now? Oh. Right. **

**Methinks our survivors may have found a new place of residence...Maybe. Daryl is doubting himself, as usual, but someone tries to talk some sense into him. Maybe, for once, he'll listen.**

**So my babies, as ever, I thank you all for reading and reviewing! I got some really great reviews for the last chapter and I want you guys(you know who you are!) to know how happy and grateful I am to see that you're enjoying this little adventure! Keep the encouragement coming, and I promise I'll do my best to keep the story interesting and fun! Mucho love to all my readers, both the pros and the ones who are new to this!**

**The Walking Dead is not mine. I just like to play with it. I promise I'll put it back when I'm done Mr. Kirkman. I swear.**

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Merle Dixon had bought the rusty skeleton of a motorcycle the summer Daryl had turned eighteen.

"Gunna fix'er up. Make'er nice n' mean." He'd laughed as he'd rolled it into the tin shed in back of their father's shitty house. Daryl remembered thinking that he'd lose interest in it after a few months when its restoration proved either too difficult, too expensive, or he just plain lost interest in it…But he hadn't.

Merle never could hold a job when they were growing up, but somehow that bike evened him out enough to make the shit work he found last a few months at a time as opposed to a few days or weeks. Merle's new found motivation hadn't helped Daryl any, though. He still ended up with being the one who was working to keep the lights on and keep at least some food in the cupboards. His father was living off Worker's Comp after a literal lucky break on a job site, but was blowing it all on booze and pills. And Merle, though the money had been coming in pretty regularly, spent every red cent he'd earned on booze, like their daddy, or the goddamn heap of a bike.

Daryl came to resent that machine. He coveted it as it went from a rusty pile of shit to a shining example of American-made machinery over the years, but he resented it. Now he was trying as best he could to get the damn thing up the uneven, back-country road, and he felt himself growing irrationally upset at the idea of having to ditch the damn thing.

He wasn't sure if he should chalk it up to the familiarity of the area and the memories that hung off the sagging tree branches, his exhaustion, the fact that he was leading these people into an unknown situation, or if he was just that upset about everything going on between he and Pru. It was all of it, though. The stress was tearing away at him like a walker through his flesh.

The bike rolled over a particularly large rock in its path, and the wheels lost their grip on the road. Thankfully, Daryl had been taking the dirt trail at a snail's pace, so he was able to catch himself before the four-hundred pound vehicle crashed down on top of his leg. He heard a car door slam behind him and footsteps coming quickly to his side.

"'M'fine! Get back in the truck so we can keep goin'! We're almost there." He shouted as he caught he breath.

"Leave it, Daryl. You're gunna kill yourself." Rick said lightly. Daryl growled as he righted the bike. He ran his eyes over it in the fading sunlight, and snarled when he saw the damage. The front fender was scratched to hell, and the gas tank had an angry dent, a bit larger than a golf ball in it. It was the kind of dent that weakened the paint enough to allow rust to form eventually.

"MOTHERFUCKER!" he shouted kicking at the dirt, causing small rocks and gravel to ting against the chrome of the vehicle. He knelt to check the contents of his saddlebag on that side quickly, to make sure nothing was busted. A few of his handmade bolts had snapped. He left them, though, knowing he would probably be able to use them for something.

"Daryl," Rick urged again, this time more firmly, "We don't have time for this. We need to keep going!"

"I ain't leavin' it, Rick! I owe mah brother that much for not findin' 'im." he said defiantly as he stood to look the other man in the eye. Rick drew in an angry breath, and Daryl thought for a second he'd been wrong about the other man a few days ago when he'd told him he couldn't imagine the both of them coming to blows over something stupid. Rick then, somehow, managed to calm his anger, allowing his lungs to deflate and hanging his head. It was then that Daryl realized his eyes were stinging. He was on the edge of blubbering like a goddamn baby, and Rick must have noticed. What in the blue hell was going on with him?

"Listen to me," Rick offered voice low as he came to stand next to him. He was a bit too close, Daryl thought, but he didn't shrink away from his friend. He was too fucking tired from trying to keep the heavy bike upright for the last two miles to move anywhere. "…We'll put it off the road. Hide it…You and I both know that they'll probably have a pickup or something up there. Once we get everyone settled, secure the place…Get some rest…You and me, we can come back for it."

Daryl, making a point to hide his face from the other man, was silent for a beat but then nodded, agreeing to what had been proposed. He wasn't abandoning it. He'd know exactly where it would be. He flexed his raw, wind-chapped, scabbed knuckles and began pulling his belongings from the saddlebags, passing them off to Rick so he could toss them into the back of the Suburban.

When his things were loaded up, he'd walked the bike off the road, a few feet into the forest and set the stand up. He paused, taking in his surroundings, making sure he knew where it was.

_Yer up n' abandonin' me again, you little sack'a shit?_

"M'comin' back." He assured the ghost in his head as he walked back to the cars. He hopped in the backseat next to Lori and Carl who were asleep, and pulled the door closed quietly.

"Turn them damn lights off. We ain't gotta let anyone know we're comin' if there's people up there." He snapped at Rick. Rick did as Daryl suggested and he allowed himself to relax into the soft seat beneath him. His face and hands burned from the temperature change. The air outside was chilly, too much to be riding in without some kind of protection. He ran his hand down his face as the truck began moving and the sting of windburn he felt was obvious now that he was regaining feeling in it. He rested his head against the window as he watched out the windshield between Rick and T-Dog.

The road finally opened up in front of them after another mile and a half of driving up the dirt road, allowing them a glimpse of their destination. A large, two story, stone and log building rose up from the bank of the lake. There were no lights on, and no signs of movement, living or otherwise from the building. Two vehicles were parked neatly next to it in the overgrown grass. He looked to the painted sign just in front of the building and it confirmed their location:

_CHATTAHOOCHEE NATIONAL PARK _

_DEPT. OF FORESTRY SERVICES_

_STATION #23, HOMER, GA_

Rick pulled the massive SUV to a halt next to the sign and turned to him. He said nothing, but nodded to both the men in the front seat and they all moved together, exiting the vehicle to clear what they hoped to be their new shelter. Daryl turned quickly, signaling to the others in the cars that they were to stay behind until they secured the place and then turned back to head up the search.

They crept toward the rear of the building, figuring that if anyone were inside, they'd be distracted by the vehicles out front. Rounding the side of the station, they passed a small area just beyond the trucks that was fenced off. The privacy fence was about twelve feet high and padlocked. Behind it, he could see the shape of a large gas pump.

_Bingo._

He hoped to hell it would be full. The world went to hell in late spring, the beginning of the summer season, and he reasoned that if no one had been up this way since, it probably had some fuel left in it. No, he'd bet his bow it'd be close to full.  
They were granted a rather picturesque view of the sun going down over the lake as they made their way to the back end of the building. It would have been nice to stop enjoy it, if they didn't have more pressing matters to tend to. The door out back was a thick metal one, and it was chained shut around the handles. It was a good sign, but it was inconvenient as hell right now. Daryl put his ear to the door to listen for any movement inside. He rapped on the metal softly in an attempt the bait anything inside close enough to the door for him to hear. He waited, stilling his breath, and listened.

Silence. He rose up and nodded to the others signaling that he'd not heard so much as a peep and lead them around the other side. He noted as they went that none of the first floor windows were broken. They were all high enough off the ground that anything would have to really climb up to get at them. Another sign in their favor.

They cleared the perimeter of the place, winding up back at the front with a clear dilemma on their hands. The front was locked from the outside as well, and without a pair of bolt cutters, or smashing a window out, weakening their stronghold and making a ton of noise, they were going to be hard up to find a way in.

"Well, what now?" T-Dog asked quietly. Daryl cupped his hand to the glass of a window that was set into the door to peer through it.

"Well," he started, "'Don' look like anyone been here. I don't see anything broke or tossed around. "

"Yeah, but how do we get _in_?" T-Dog clarified.

The sound of car doors closing behind them caused them to turn. Andrea, Michonne, and Pru were walking toward them.

"You boys having a little trouble?" Andrea asked smugly.

"Good lord! Don't any'a you ever listen?" Daryl castigated. Pru and Michonne split off from the rest of them and went to the Forestry Services' green trucks, opening them and climbing into the driver's seats.

"You were asked to wait." Rick echoed Daryl's frustrations, looking from Andrea to where the other women were rooting around the interior of the vehicles.

"Wait for you guys to make a mess of things?" Andrea laughed again, "Right."

"We ain't got time to play Charlie's Angels. Go back to that damn jeep." Daryl said going back to the door to try and come up with something. As he peered back into the darkened window, he heard jingling behind him. He turned to see both of the women who'd gone to the trucks holding up large sets of keys. His upper lip curled while he chewed at the lower, backing away from the door. Goddammit.

Michonne smilled and tossed her set over to Rick's waiting hands and he laughed, himself, shaking his head and began trying the keys on the door. He'd gone through about five or six before Daryl heard the lock turn. He and Rick caught each other's eyes sharing small, relieved smirks for a second before he pushed the heavy door open.

"Stay the fuck here n' cover us." He'd whispered over his shoulder to the woman as they entered.

It took them twenty minutes to clear the building. It was pretty damn big. Two floors, a basement, and an observation deck outside on the roof. There were three rangers' offices that flanked the first floor's visitors' center, as well as public restrooms. In one of the offices, they'd found a large, powerful flashlight. They tested it, and it illuminated the whole room.

At the back of the first floor hallway, by where the other door to the outside, was a dark stairwell that led both downstairs and up. They checked out the basement first, since Daryl had remembered the basic layout of the second floor. When they got down there, they were greeted by one of the most wonderful things they'd seen since they'd stepped foot inside the CDC months back; living quarters. More specifically, a large, open kitchen, a communal sitting area, three dorm-style bedrooms, a shower room, and a small laundry room that was packed to the gills with towels, coats, odds, and ends.

As they rounded most every turn, beam of incandescence shining on the furniture and spaces before them, Rick would clap him on the back excitedly as if they'd just stumbled upon some legendary lost treasure like the Fountain of Youth, Cortez's lost gold, or the Holy Fucking Grail. The man was celebrating a bit too early for his comfort, though, if he was forced to admit it, it did look rather promising. But he wasn't about to count his chickens before they hatched. Daryl Dixon was not the type.

They finally made their way up to the second floor. Daryl had vaguely remembered what it had looked like from the time he'd been arrested. Two desks were out in the open, next to a small holding cell. Standard. Beyond that, there was an office he hadn't been in. He and the two other men moved into the unlocked room behind him. It was empty, at least of walkers or humans. The room had obviously doubled as a small medical station and laboratory. It was stocked, top to bottom, with first aid supplies. There was even a small refrigerator on the floor that, at one time, had housed a ton of injectable antibiotics, that had no doubt, had gone bad by now…A shame and a waste, but there would be more here. He was sure of it.

"Ol' Herschel's gunna shit 'imself stupid when he takes a look in 'ere." Daryl laughed under his breath as he finally lowered his weapon. He turned from the room and looked around once more as Rick came up to him.

"Weapons?" Rick asked him.

"Yeah, they're pro'ly back 'ere." He answered, gesturing with his chin as he headed towards the back hallway. A supplies closet was checked first. It held nothing but cleaning supplies and tools, flashlights and toilet paper, batteries and raincoats. The next door down, against the back wall of the building, was what they'd been looking for. Even if they had to leave this place tomorrow, they'd be better off now.

The outer door was unassuming enough. It looked just like another office, though the small sign on it read _Authorized Personnel Only._ They unlocked the door with the keys Michonne had found in the truck and found a second door of black, steel mesh padlocked shut. Beyond that, an entire room full of things like rifles, shot guns, ammunition, tranquilizers for animal relocation…It was a small arsenal.

And there was that hand on his shoulder again, shaking him. It was a friendly shake, rough and congratulating. "You just saved our asses, friend." Rick smiled.

_Friend._

A small victory that felt a bit too easy.

Within an hour they'd gotten everyone inside along with everything they'd gathered from the cars. After that, it had been decided that they'd 'rough it' for the evening, in favor of just locking the place up, boarding the windows at the front doors up quickly, and hurrying down into the living area. No one but Rick would have to go on watch that night. He claimed he wasn't tired yet, and said he'd sleep come morning. Daryl had felt his order kind of idiotic, seeing as how anything could have followed them up here. Rick could have used a second pair of eyes out there, but as he was about to follow the other man up to the observation deck, he realized he was just too drained to argue. He'd allow himself this one night to recharge.

A few more flashlights had been dealt out, and Carol and Maggie had started to go through the pantry in the kitchen. It was well stocked, and it would keep all of them fed well for a few months if they rationed it properly. The women had also checked the faucet in the kitchen. Apparently water would not be a problem for them, either.

They all sat around the large flashlight which had been placed on the floor in the center of the room, shining toward the ceiling and lighting up the area. It was a makeshift campfire. The last one they'd have to sit around for a good, long while, he'd hoped. Some had taken up spots on the couch, others had made themselves comfortable on the floor in a circle as they each eat from a can of vegetables, fruit cocktail, or tuna fish.

He'd lingered in the back towards the wall, listening as the others chatted happily for what felt like the first time in weeks. Andrea and Michonne had told everyone of how she'd escaped the farm and how Michonne had gotten to her just in time. The women had been caught up on the passing of the other members already, he'd assumed, by the way he'd noticed Andrea stealing sidelong glances at Rick before he'd gone off. He could tell by her dimly lit face that she didn't know what to make of it all yet. She was a smart girl, though. He knew that she'd eventually come around to the fact that it had been for the best. Shane had been a lost cause…For a long time.

He stabbed at the pieces of meat in the can of cold stew he was holding as his eyes moved around the dark room, taking the new space in, and thinking to himself that this had all been far too easy and far too perfect. Nothing came this easily in this world anymore…And it made him really uncomfortable.

By the time he'd come to, he realized that everyone was gathering up blankets and pillows from another storage space. A few of the others had chosen to room together in the bedrooms. Each of which had a bunk bed and a futon couch in it. Lori, Carl, and Beth had taken one room, Glenn and Maggie had been allowed some privacy and were offered the second, and apparently, Herschel and T-Dog had insisted the women take the last one, opting to take the couch and the comfortable looking recliner.

He didn't mind sleeping on the floor. He was used to it. The soft carpet underneath him was just as appealing to him right now as a king sized bed would have been. He went to get up and turn the giant flashlight off when he was sure everyone was about to bed down, and he saw that Andrea was shooing Michonne off into their room with Carol and Pru as she headed to the linen closet. His eyes moved over Pru reluctantly before she'd tucked herself back behind the room's cinder block wall, and Michonne closed the door behind them. He sighed and looked back over to Andrea who'd looked over at him just then. He'd wait for her to get to the room before he'd turn it off so she wouldn't have to stumble around in the blackness. He carted his mostly empty can to the kitchen counter and plopped it down, rather than leaving it on the carpet next to him to be knocked over in the fitful sleep he was prone to.

When he went to return to his spot against the far wall, Andrea was pushing a pillow and blanket into his hands.

"This place was a good idea." She offered along with the bedding. He shrugged.

"Coulda turned to shit just as easy." He said quietly as he walked back to his spot.

"It didn't, though." She said as she followed behind him. He huffed heavily, sitting back down, hoping that she'd get that he was about ready to pass out and wasn't up for a conversation.

"…Not yet." He said as he started pulling his boots off. His feet were sore from being squeezed into their coverings for days and days without rest. The air felt amazing on his skin once he'd pulled the socks off. She'd stopped just in front of him and he squinted up at her in annoyance as he cracked his toes.

"Why won't you let yourself have anything good?" she asked then shaking her head at him. The tone of her voice was a bit exasperated and sad.

"What?" His brow knit. He honestly had no idea what she was on about. Just because he was waiting for the other shoe to drop didn't mean he didn't feel like he'd won the lottery tonight. This _was_ good, and he was thankful. She came to sit down directly in front of him, and it felt like she was trapping him where he'd sat against the wall.

"She told me what happened, Daryl…What you said to her." She whispered.

He growled at her a bit louder than he should have considering there were other people in the room who were trying to sleep. He pushed to his feet, no idea where he would escape to in the closed area, but determined to put space between them. He heard her sigh as she stood and began shuffling behind him.

"…I know why you said it." She claimed as she followed closely behind him. He grabbed the flashlight from the floor and stalked off toward the door to the stairwell. He hoped she wouldn't follow him, but he knew how pushy the woman was.

"You don' know nothin' 'bout nothin'." He said as he flung the door open in front of him and began to ascend the flight of stairs. She caught the door as it swung back and pushed it closed behind her, and made no physical attempt to follow him any farther than that point.

"I know that you didn't mean what you said to her." She defied a bit louder now that they were out of the common room and in the stairway. He turned half way up the flight of steps and fixed her with and his familiar, angry scowl.

"Yeah? You know that, do you? Well what if I _did_ mean it?" he spat gripping the handle of the light so tightly it hurt. She shrugged and pursed her lips as she looked him dead in the eye, calling his bluff.

"You didn't…And you should tell her as much. Apologize for the lame excuse you tossed at her."

His blood boiled. He marched back down the steps and came to stand eye to eye with her, trying to get her to back off. She didn't flinch, though. Instead she'd done the exact opposite of what he'd wanted her to do. She stood there and giggled. The woman _giggled_. Laughed right in his fucking face.

"The fuck's so funny?" he shouted. He was completely at his wit's end now, as far as the conversation was concerned. She quelled her laughter and tightened her mouth just a bit, a knowing smile playing across her features. She shook her head.

"You're not the boogie-man you try to play yourself off as, Daryl. If that were true, you wouldn't have brought us here today…You wouldn't have saved Carol when we all left the farm…You wouldn't have looked for Sophia as hard as you did…You would have left a long time ago."

Her words caused him to falter a bit. He drew in a deep breath and exhaled loudly as he averted his eyes. He really did not want to have this conversation.

"I think," she continued, "that you're finally starting to see that you're worth something to someone. To a lot of people…And it's freaking you out."

"I ain't-"

"Daryl," she said frankly, craning her head downward to catch his eyes again, "You can't fight two wars…One real, one in your head…You're gunna lose one sooner or later…And why bother fighting the real one if it's for nothing?"

He lifted his head, scrutinizing her face for a moment as he backed off and sat on one of the lower steps. He allowed her words to wash over his mind and tried to sort himself out before he opened his mouth again.

"…An' what if somethin' happens?" he snapped again, holding on to every ounce of fight he had in him. She rolled her eyes at him, and the sight of it nearly caused him to bristle back up again. He wasn't talking out of his ass, here! He wanted to fucking know, seeing as she thought she had all the fucking answers all of a sudden.

"Aren't you always telling people _'Blah, blah, blah, keep your ass in the here n' now'_?" she said lowering her voice and shoving an exaggerated southern twang in there, in a poor attempt at mimicking his voice. It was enough to pull a snort of amusement from him, though he was still doing his damnedest to keep his hard exterior up.

"Why are you suddenly worried about what's down the road?" she asked, laughing a bit herself, "Do the both of you a favor and enjoy each other while you can…In the here and now…Because no matter how hard you try to deny it, if something happened, it's going to suck anyway."

He scratched at the back of his head nervously. As much as he didn't want to admit it, she was making a good amount of sense.

"I'm going to bed." She said as she slapped at his arm and stood. He looked after her as she opened the door.

"I tol' you shit was better with you gone." He reminded her quietly, expression deadpan.

"Uh-huh." She chuckled as she allowed the door to close behind her. He exhaled after the door had clicked shut and ran the back of his hand over his chapped and wind burnt lips. He sat there, collecting his thoughts for who knows how long before he decided he should try to catch some shut eye. He grabbed onto the railing to lever his tired body back onto his feet, taking the flashlight with him and padded back to his spot in the other room.

Once his head hit the pillow, he forced everything from his mind. He'd try to take her advice, and let himself have this. He'd found them a safe place, if only for the night...He'd done something good today, but there was a ton of shit that needed to be done tomorrow, and he knew he'd be on his feet the whole day...Trying to fix things. Trying to make good.


	25. Chapter 25

**In honor of July 4th, here's some, er...Fireworks. Alright, that was really dumb, but whatever. Some of you have been waiting for this, others could care less, which is absolutely cool, yo. I've made it so that if you want to skip this chapter, you really wouldn't miss any plot. But, just as a heads up, there's gunna be more in future chapters, honestly, so this is kind of a point of no return(not that this is what the story is going to degrade into, chapters upon chapters of nothing but, however, these two just opened a can of worms. You try closing that shit.), lol.**

**In coming chapters we're going to delve more into their similarities and differences as characters, past horrors that each have experienced, their responsibilities to the group and now to each other, and some good ol' fashioned villainy, so stick around, children. There's much more on the way.**

**To all of you who continue to put up with this crap, lol, I heart you all. To my newcomers...HI. THIS WAS AN INTERESTING CHAPTER FOR YOU TO STUMBLE UPON XD.**

**In all seriousness, though, I'd like some critiquing on this...I know I've mentioned before that this is my first fic ever, but I've felt especially clumsy while writing this. Why? Because lol sex. I want to know if this flowed well with the story, made sense, was OOC at any points(that's a huge pet peeve of mine) as far as Daryl goes, or even as far as how I've established Pru. Too much, not enough? You get the beans, right?**

**Alright. Thank you again for reading, guys. Have at it.**

**KIRKMAN, PRODUCERS, AMC: BENCH YOUR LAWYERS. I KNOW THIS STUFF ISN'T MINE.**

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The room was dark when a knock came on the solid door to the room. For some reason, the sound that would have normally caused her to jump a mile into the air only caused her to stir slightly. Perhaps it was the warmth and softness of the bed beneath her. It was the first real bed she'd been in since she'd left her own home months ago, and despite the mattress pad being a bit thin and boney, and the blanket feeling a bit scratchy, she thought she'd be able to lay there the entire day if she didn't have shit to do.

The door opened a bit, and Rick's soft voice called out, "Rise and shine, ladies. We've got a lot to do today."

He closed the door softly behind him as he left them to wake on their own, and the sounds of the other women in the room stirring called her more solidly to waking life. The room was still pitch black due to the fact that there were no windows down here, so she listened for a moment as, who she believed to Andrea, groped around next to the opened up futon for where Michonne had deposited her flashlight before falling to sleep. There was a dull thunking noise, as if she'd hit her head on something or stubbed her toe.

"Shit." The blonde swore under her breath, and it caused Pru to laugh a bit. Suddenly she was all but blinded as the beam of the flashlight was shone onto her face.

"GOD!" she winced, burying her face beneath her pillow, "Get that thing the hell out of my face!"

It was Andrea's turn to laugh, and Michonne joined her. Pru flipped over on her stomach to the other side of the bed, away from the light, before looking over the other side through one squinted, sleepy eye to make sure Carol wasn't standing directly below her. She'd climbed into the top bunk last night, with Carol taking the bed beneath her, and Andrea and Michonne sharing the roomy double futon.

The space was more than adequate for them, but from what she'd heard Rick and Daryl talking about the night before, they were planning on making a few runs in the future to the nearby towns to collect more beds for better sleeping arrangements. Rick had proposed that the offices upstairs on the first floor be turned into bed rooms as well, giving them all a bit more space and, at the very least, giving everyone a bed of their own. It was something small, but it was definitely a step towards a scrap of normalcy. One which they could all definitely use.

She slid down out of the bunk, landing on her bare feet, and slapped over to where Andrea was still laughing, legs thrown over the side of the pullout, and she wrenched the flashlight from her hands.

"Gimme that. _Asshole_." She'd snapped.

"Well, good morning to you, too, Sunshine." Her friend chuckled.

"It was good. Then ya had to start with ya fuckin' death ray." She said, laughing and waggling the bright light in Andrea's face for a second, giving her a taste of her own medicine, before turning back around to slip her feet into her boots. She knelt to tie them, waiting for the rest of them to ready themselves when a low steady droning sound kicked on around them. It was the sound of flowing electricity. Not a second later did a clock radio behind them come on, emitting a steady static hiss as it blinked 12:00 in red digits.

Funny how things that had once been so annoying had a tendency to become beacons of hope now.

"They got the generator working!" Carol crowed happily, pulling herself from the bunk. Pru stood quickly, leaving the flashlight where it sat on the floor, and flung herself to the where the light switch was located by the door jamb. She flicked it on, and the room instantly lit up, bathing them in stark florescence that, in another life, she'd absolutely detested. They all let out celebratory whoops, hollers, and laughs as they poured out of the room and into the common area, which was also now fully lit. Rick stood smiling up at the ceiling admiring the light as it shined down onto them. The other members of the group began coming out of the rooms, hearing the commotion and realizing what it was all about.

"This place is like a five star hotel, now!" T-Dog laughed as he pulled his large body from the recliner he'd slept in. Rick nodded, happily.

"As good as…But that doesn't mean we get to sit around and enjoy it." He began as he pulled his eyes from aloft, "Pru, Andrea, Michonne, Maggie, and Glenn; I want you all to go through the place, top to bottom, and unplug or turn off every light or appliance you can find that we don't need to use. We don't want anything unnecessary draining our fuel supply."

At that, he turned and looked to the wall between the supply closet and the back stairway, and she followed his eyes to it. There was a circuit breaker mounted there. He walked over and opened it, pouring over the labels next to each switch before flipping a few into the OFF position. Pru immediately back stepped to the room she'd just come out of and turned off the light she'd just thrown on.

"No outdoor lights…And none on the second floor past dusk. If you're up there, candles or flashlights only. We don't need to attract attention to ourselves." He ordered, walking back to the group, "Carol and Beth, think ya'll can handle breakfast?"

"Of course." Carol smiled, grabbing the teen's hand and sliding past Rick to the kitchen area.

"T-Dog, watch, for now?" Rick asked, "The sun's just about all the way up, and I left a rifle out there on the observation level." T-Dog nodded, and began to move to the door to the stairway. As he pulled it open, Daryl walked through it, hands and parts of his face covered in motor oil and filth from some sort of machinery, and he was wiping at his skin with his red handkerchief. He'd been the one to get the generator going.

Guilt, for some reason, was beginning to get the best of her, though she was trying her best not to let it. After spending the previous evening in the jeep, driving clear across the state with both Carol and Andrea at her the whole time about what had happened early that morning, she'd just about been worn down. They both argued that he hadn't meant it, and while what he'd said to her was crass , well, that was Daryl, like it or not. Crass, ornery, and jumpy as a wet cat when it came to anything having to do with human interaction.

"He sounds like an asshole to me." Michonne had said from her spot behind the driver's seat.

"Yeah, he is." She'd replied, as she met the other woman's gaze via the rearview.

"Well, that's fine, because you are, too." Andrea said emotionlessly. Carol snickered at the smart comment, and that caused Pru to avert her eyes from the road just long enough to turn around to Andrea, who also sat in the back, and raise her fist at her threatening the promise of a punch.

He didn't mean it and he needed time to wrap his head around what had happened between them. That was the conclusion the others kept coming back to. But it wasn't _his_ conclusion. They were making assumptions. They hadn't been there, she had, and they hadn't seen the callous, disgusted look in his eyes. She wasn't even sure, despite everyone else's insistence, if he'd change his mind, or if he'd already made it up.

She came to her own conclusion, then, as she'd driven the last few miles of their journey. He was the type of person that made quick decisions when things really mattered. Those decisions were based heavily in practicality. He was right in what he'd said, ultimately. There was no room for something like this in their lives if they wanted to live. She was determined to hold tight to her anger because he'd hurt and betrayed her…But also because her anger would keep her from feeling anything else for him.

But as he stood there now, caked with grease that was laid over days and days' worth of dirt and dried walker blood, it caused his bright blue eyes to stand out even more to her than they usually had, and it made her chest seize up. He'd come up with a plan to get them someplace safe, and he was working hard to make everyone happy and comfortable. Now as he strode into the room with that careless walk of his, those deep, blue eyes fell to hers…and she was filled with a reluctant pride. Then the guilt hit, and it was because of her reluctance.

Rick turned to him with a grateful smiled and nodded and Daryl returned it, pulling his eyes from her briefly.

"Checked it over an' filled the tank up. Looks like it was only used but once or twice… It's good'ta go now. If we only use what we gotta, we won' need fuel for weeks." He said quietly. Rick seemed more than satisfied with his words. The two men, their leader and his new partner, exchanged words for a moment and every so often, his eyes would flick to hers, and then run over her. She couldn't tell what the looks meant. All she knew was that despite what she'd resolved to last night, they were making something ache inside her.

She eventually forced herself to turn away, walking back into the room she'd slept in once again to retrieve the weapons she'd shucked from herself before bed.

"Let the generator run for a few hours," she heard Rick say from the other room, "It'll heat up some water in the boiler. Then we can all see about getting some hot showers…After that, Lori and Carol can start some laundry."

She looked down at her arms and the clothes she was wearing. She was just as filthy as Daryl. Grime and gore collected over the last three days coated her, head to toe. Her scalp itched then, and she decided she almost didn't want to wait for the water heater to do its job. A freezing cold shower sounded just as enticing right now. It would rinse the filth from her body, and force the thoughts of those ultramarine eyes from her mind.

She shook her head and forced it back to reality, fastening her quiver tight to her thigh and then draping her holster over her shoulders and bent to yank the plug of the hissing clock radio out of the wall. When she came back out, it was to Rick telling Carl that his job for the day was to clean out whatever smelly, horrible mess was in the refrigerator and freezer down here. The poor kid paled and already looked as if he was about to yak.

"Man up, Bud," she laughed as she walked by ruffling his hair, "Walkers smell worse than that, anyway, and you're a pro now, right?"

The kid shot her a look at which she laughed as she turned to look the room over for more things to turn off or unplug.

"OH!" Carol suddenly gasped from the other side of the room. Everyone spun, frazzled nerves that had been soothed by a single night of comfortable rest, set to fire again. Carol stood in the kitchen, smiling mouth covered by one hand. In the other she was hold up a large, red, plastic jar. She looked from the object back to the group, and finally to coffee pot next to her.

"It's not instant…Does a coffee pot count as unnecessary?" she laughed sheepishly. Lori, for the first time in since Carl had been returned to her, smiled, no, laughed and did it loudly, shuffling to the kitchen to help the other two.

The day had been a busy one. After running through the place, pulling plugs, they'd had breakfast. The first truly filling meal any of them had eaten in days. It was like a banquet; oatmeal with jam, and some Vienna sausages that Carol had fried up in a heavy cast-iron pan. After that, no one had stopped moving for more than a minute, all too busy with their chores and becoming familiar with the layout of their new home. Doors were reinforced, the medical supplies and weapons were all gone through and inventoried. Their hideaway was quickly becoming a well-armed fortress.

As she ran around the whole day, she'd pass him in the halls every so often. It was a pretty big place, but with everyone on the move with things to accomplish before day's end, running into each other was inevitable. But every time he'd pass her, those eyes of his were back at hers, and every time they met hers, he looked at her with an expression she'd never seen from him before. It was somewhere between a wince, the faintest hint of a sad smile, and somehow it still held that defiant edge. At first she'd thought nothing of it. It was merely a look and she'd been able to ignore it for the most part. But as he kept on with it throughout the day, it grew tiresome. She knew what he was doing. He was goading her. Why, however, she wasn't sure.

Now as they'd all regrouped for supper in the living area downstairs, his stares were inescapable. People were trying to talk to her, but the feeling of him rubbernecking was just too distracting. She'd finished as much food as she could as quickly as possible before excusing herself in order to leave for one of the upper levels. As she cleared her dish from the table, she grabbed up a flashlight that had been set on the counter and made her way to the stairs. She had no idea where she was going to go, only that she needed to get the hell out of that room and away from him. She climbed the dark stairwell to the second floor, realizing she hadn't really been up here much yet. She might as well explore the place while she wasn't really doing anything. She looked through the room with the medical supplies first, and then went down the hallway to their little armory, pushing the metal gate of a door open to allow herself in.

They were well armed now, thanks to this place. She made her way around the room counting everything out; six new shot guns, three new rifles, ten new handguns, and all kinds of ammo and blades. She sat on the floor beneath the small window at the back of the room, shut off the flashlight, and let her mind wander. They had a chance in this place, she thought. What she couldn't understand though, was how this place had been forgotten about by not only the people who'd worked here, but people who'd lived in the surrounding areas.

They'd gotten lucky. Too lucky for her liking.

The sound of footfall on the old wood floor beyond the door of the gun closet snapped her from her mind. She could have been sitting there for ten minutes, or it could have been an hour. She couldn't tell. When the figures came to the open door, she flicked the flashlight back on to illuminate their faces. Rick and Daryl. She didn't know who else she'd been expecting to see. She sighed.

"We were wondering where you'd gotten off to with that light." Rick said.

"Yeah, well I was feeling a little claustrophobic down there." She answered as she pulled herself to her feet.

"So yer sittin' inna closet?" Daryl asked with an unexpected edge to his voice and a quirk to his brow. She glared daggers at him. _Smartass_.

"Well, as long as we know you aren't outside…I'm goin' up," Rick said, motioning to the roof with a jerk of his head, "Tomorrow I'll want both your help scouting the area around here. See if we can't figure the lay of the land…And maybe you two can grab us some fresh meat."

They both nodded in unison at his suggestion, and with that he left them to push through the door to ascend to the observation deck. It was a second or two before she decided she'd go back downstairs. She shouldered past Daryl who was still standing at the lip of the room.

"Hey." He muttered. She ignored him and pressed on until her hand landed on the handle of the door.

"Hey," he said reaching for her arm, "I'm talkin' to you." She spun around immediately, yanking her arm away from his grasp.

"Don't ya think ya did enough talkin' yesta'day mornin'?" she spat at him. His upper lip pulled back, revealing his gritted teeth as he threw his hands in the air.

"Will you drop the Scarlett-_Fuckin'_-O'Hara shit for a damn minute an' lemme say sump'in'!" he hollered. She stopped then, crossed her arms and cocked her hip, daring him to say his piece with her eyes. Her look caused him to flounder. Clearly he hadn't been expecting her to give him a chance to open his mouth.

"Well?"

He stood there, brow knit and chewing at hips bottom lip. He looked so sick with remorse that she almost expected him to hurl his dinner up onto his shoes.

"I shouldn'a said what I did to you. Not a word of it." He mumbled, drawing his hand up to his mouth to chew at his ragged cuticles. Her heart's rhythm skipped like the needle running along the grooves of a scratched record. It was clear now that he was trying to work up an apology, but that didn't mean she had to make it easy on him or even accept it.

"Ya damn right, you shouldn't have." She said pushing the door open and stepping into the blackened stairwell. She flew down the steps gripping at the railing with one hand as the flashlight's beam bounced along with the jogged movements as she'd descended to the first floor. The sound of the heavy door slamming back open behind her startled her, though she knew it was only him giving chase. His footsteps were heavy and rushed behind her as he followed, until he'd skipped the last two or three steps, hopping to the landing as she'd rounded the corner to take the next down.

"Don'chu make this any tougher fer me than it already is, dammit! I'm tryin' here!" he flared, putting himself between her and the next set of steps.

"Because ya made it so easy on me, right? Why do _you _get the easy way out, man?"

"THIS AIN'T EASY, PRU!" he roared. She shrunk back from him and watched as his scowling eyes went a bit wider in realization. Just then, beneath them, they heard another door open.

"Everything okay up there?" T-Dog's voice came from the basement floor of the stairwell.

"Fine!" they both snapped in response.

"Good. Now shut the hell up. People are tryin' to sleep down here!" he said angrily. A second later she heard the door close once more and she took the chance, while he was distracted by the sound, to shove past him and continue downward again. He huffed and quested after her still.

"I ain't good with words." He said, much more softly now than anything he'd said up to this point and soaked with sincerity. She hazarded a look up at him, slowing and then stopping when she reached the first floor landing. He was just behind her, the step he was perched on adding another six or so inches to his height. The glow of the flashlight she'd held bounced off the floor and the walls of the grey cinderblock stairwell and just barely illuminated the pleading features on his face.

"I don't think words are gunna dig ya out of this hole, anyway, Daryl." She said softly and honestly, his expression just about breaking her. Their gazes bridged upon the end of her uttering and held for a few breaths. He must have taken her words as a suggestion, because his soiled, calloused hand rose slowly and experimentally from his side. She grimaced at it and closed her eyes, turning slightly from it before he made contact with the skin of her cheek. The warmth of his palm and thumb as it caressed the side of her face was finally enough to cut through her anger. Her breath hitched and she pressed her head into his touch, opening her eyes again to look upon him.

"What happened to this being 'stupid'?" she asked softly, trying desperately to keep a slight bite in her tone. He came down off the last step to join her on the landing, and wrapped his other arm around her hip, closing the gap between their bodies.

"Nobody ever 'cused me'a bein' the sharpest knife in the draw'er." He smirked. It was enough to cause her lips to quirk to one side. At that, he brought his lips to land softly on hers. His mouth was gentle at first, apologizing physically to her instead of verbally. She sighed into him, open mouth allowing him to deepen the kiss. She felt his tongue flick out and slide wetly across her lips as she laid one hand on his firm chest, and let the other rest at a belt loop at his side, flashlight dropping to the floor with a _thunk_.

The hand on her face made its way slowly to the back of her neck and up into her thick, wavy mess of dark hair, and he tugged a bit on it to break her mouth from his. She moaned at both the loss and the new sensation of his teeth raking across the flesh between her jaw and neck, and he answered her with a happy grunt that resonated from somewhere deep in his body, puffing a long, hot breath into her hair. Satisfied with the amount of attention he'd placed at her tattooed throat for the time being, she fisted a hand into his hair, directing his mouth back to hers. He hissed at the sharp feeling, but through the thick curtain of lashes that rimmed her lust-heavy eyelids, along with the help of the shadowy light cast by the discarded torch, she could see a feral smirk on his lips before they came back to hers.

She felt him press the length of this body into her as he began to walk them towards the wall. Their mouths worked feverishly against one another now. When the solid wall was finally at her back, the hand then that had been at her neck moved downward and slipped up her still filthy shirt. He dragged his dull fingertips across the smooth skin of her ribs while the right hand, which had been settled at her hip, made its way around and down to settle on and grope at her ass. She yanked more firmly with the single finger she'd slid into his belt loop, encouraging him and moaned loudly into him as she felt the stiffness buried beneath his jeans dig into her upper thigh.

Her hand crept from its spot at his hip to the waistband of his pants, letting a finger teasingly run between the material and his skin there as she latched onto his bottom lip lightly with her teeth. That deep, animalistic grunt spilled from his chest again, into her mouth. It was her turn to grin, and she did so as she palmed down the outside of his denim clad lap. He shuttered against her as she slowly massaged the warm length she'd found there. He pulled his mouth from hers panting and let his forehead fall to the crook of her neck as she finally loosened the grip on his hair and ran her hand down his body to work at the buckle of his belt and the button on the dark denim. When she'd managed to work both open, she felt his hand slowly leave its spot on her backside and grasp at her wrist.

"Hang on." He panted and reached for something at his back with the other hand. Confused, she looked to him, fearing this would be round fucking two of Daryl's ill-timed second thoughts. He moved his mouth to pant soft and hotly against her ear and neck.

"Don' wanna do this in no fuckin' stairway." He growled before licking and nipping at her ink-darkened skin again. She smiled as he backed up off her, one hand at his pants keeping them hitched up now that they were undone, the other which was holding the gun that had been at his back, reaching out to snatch up the flashlight that had fallen to the floor. He looked both up and down the stairs before seemingly remembering that they'd been standing in front of the first floor the whole time. She watched him nod at it, directing her in that direction and she slid off the wall and into the door, pushing it open with her body and keeping her eyes coyly fixed on him as she did it.

He'd nodded to the first office on their left after leaving the stairwell, and she went to the door, pushing it open and backed in slowly, watching him follow her as if she were the Pied Piper. He closed the door and locked it behind him, and she watched him set the gun and light down on a filing cabinet as she backed to the desk and settled herself there.

His eyes, as he swayed over to her, drunken off lust and the taste of her mouth, caught the faint glow of the flashlight and reflected back to her a blue as bright as the Northern Atlantic Sea with a power and intensity to match. She shivered slightly as the heat of his body radiated off him as he settled in front of her again. He paused, licking his lips, and her arms moved to loop around his broad, powerful shoulders, pulling him back to her lonely mouth. He tugged with a force that, if it were anyone but him, she'd have described as playful, at the holster she had slung around her shoulders, muttering what she'd guess was supposed to be the word "off". But between his heavy drawl and the mash of their faces, the only sound that escaped his mouth was that of the double consonants. She wasn't surprised when he didn't wait for her to help him. He began to unzip the hoodie underneath it and she shrugged out of the leather sling just as he began to peel the garment off her warm body, allowing it to fall to the floor.

He wrapped his hands around the backs of her thighs, hoisting her up onto the desk, while one of her own shot back to where they'd been teasing before. The other began unbuttoning the denim jacket he wore beneath his black leather vest. He lifted her shirt over her head, exposing an almost thread bare grey bra, and she pushed the jacket from his body, dropping it to the floorboards as well.

As her hands worked the fly of his jeans down, he began working the back clasp of the only thing left covering her chest. When it finally released and fell loosely off her shoulders, his white-hot hands came up to massage at the soft mounds of exposed flesh. She hummed into his scalp as he dipped his head and took one into his mouth, running his tongue and teeth around small nub of flesh he'd found there. Her eyes rolled around in her head as she panted into the mess of hair on top of his as he multi-tasked, mouth to her breast, and hands now yanking at and undoing the front of her pants.

He pulled his mouth from her breast with a quiet groan and placed a hand at her shoulder, pushing her back slightly on the desk. She hurriedly began to toe at her boots in an attempt to rid her feet of them.

"Keep yer damn pants on, girl." He joked in a low, ragged voice as he reached to take one of her ankles in his hand and undo the laces. He made quick work of the first, tipping her foot out of it and tossing it carelessly to the floor, and then did the same with the second before toeing out of his own heavy work boots. When he went back to her mouth, it burned briefly as the coarse stubble around his lips ground into the skin around hers. She wrapped her legs around his hips firmly, feeling the heat there, and begging him for more as she squeezed him into her. She felt his hand tap at her hip softly before feeling his fingertips work their way into both sides of her waistband. Her arms went back to his thick shoulders so she could hoist herself off the desk enough for him to wiggle her pants down off her ass and passed her thick thighs.

After he'd pulled them off the rest of the way, he slowed his movements, and she felt him drag his rough palms up and down the smooth skin of her inner thighs. She opened her eyes, as much as she could against their heavy lids, and looked upon his face. He looked painfully unsure now, like a scared kid. It took her a second to figure out why, but when she did, she sighed softly and smiled reassuringly.

"Don't ya get shy on me now, Dixon. Not when I'm sitting here like this." She said as she leaned in kissing him softly and began undoing the buttons of his sleeveless flannel shirt. About halfway down, after deepening their kiss again, her bid to bolster his confidence apparently began to work. He broke free briefly, obviously deciding that the unbuttoning of his shirt moot now, and reached with one hand to the collar and yanked it over his head, freeing himself. He tossed it down and while he'd looked away after it, she couldn't help but look at the mess of thatched lines that were carved into the skin of his tight chest and, to a lesser extent, his firm stomach. He pulled his eyes back to her before averting them once again.

"Ain't much to look at." He whispered, obviously speaking about himself. She ran a hand over the sparse, blonde hair and scars on his chest and forced him to look at her with the other.

"I call bullshit." She smiled running a hand over his taught stomach and he grunted in amusement. His body was in amazing shape, she thought. It wasn't the kind of shape a man would have gotten by killing himself at a gym or playing sports. There were no rippling abs or well defined pectoral muscles. It was a different kind of fitness. One that spoke of a lifetime's worth of hard, physical work, and maybe a bit of running…Though she assumed that before all this, Daryl hadn't really been the kind of man to run. The running was a recent thing. No, Daryl had swaggered everywhere before this, just like he did when he wasn't in any particular rush to do anything now. That fucking swagger. That swing of his well-muscled arms and his hips in a rhythm that was simultaneously careless and hellbent on the destruction of _something_.

Her smiled grew broader. She drew him back to her bringing one hand back up to his jaw as she initiated another kiss, and slid her other down his thin waist and pushed his loosened jeans from where they'd just barely been holding to his skin.

After he'd kicked his shed pants away, he pressed himself flush to her and it pulled a moan from both of them. The heat between them was becoming unbearable. She gasped loudly as he squeezed, almost painfully hard at the flesh of her hips and lifted her fully off the desk.

"Down." He growled as he broke their fevered mouths, motioning to the floor with a jerk of his chin. She backed up a bit and lowered herself to the floor, pulling him on top of her. As he eased her backward gently, she felt his hand move to guide her head, cupping it protectively from the floor. With the full weight of his body settled between her legs, his eyes flashed to hers and she swallowed down the lump of nerves and carnality in her throat as his hot length hovered just beyond her passion-slick aperture.

"You good?" he panted. He shifted a bit and she couldn't tell if he'd ground himself against her on purpose or if completely by accident, but she whimpered softly at the contact, bucking up into him just a bit and nodded. Her breaths were erratic with anticipation as she fisted his hair again, dragging his mouth down to meet hers firmly. He reached down between them to position his hardness and he plunged into her. The feeling of their bodies finally linking after weeks of covetous desire drew shaky moans from each of them. Her head swam as he stilled himself over her for a moment, eyes screwed shut, breathing the composure back into his body before slowly pressing on.

He sank his mouth back to her colorful skin as she moved her pelvis up and down him in response to his firm movements, every shift tearing another quiet whine from her. She wrapped her legs back around his waist, tilting her hips up and allowing him deeper access into her, and he drove on, causing a sweet, dull ache to form at her center.

She raked her nails up his side and across the skin of his scarred back as she panted heavily into his ear. He pulled away from her a bit, and she looked up to him, fearing she'd crossed some line he'd set, unspoken. The thought was wiped clean from her mind, however, as ran one hand up the back of her thigh, hitching it up and brought the other to rest at her mons. The pad of his thumb swiped over the tiny bead of nerves there as he balanced on his knees, setting a more fervid pace.

She began to vocalize her approval with small mewling sounds and ragged breaths that grew louder and more frantic as the sensations their friction caused began to come to a head.

"Daryl…Oh-" her voice choked, closing her eyes forcefully. His name on her pleading lips earned a husky grunt of pleasure as he began to hammer home into her. Suddenly her body began to lurch, quiver, and sigh breathily as she lost herself to orgasm. The tightening of the soft, wet musculature hidden inside her forced him over the brink just afterwards, and she felt him pull himself free of her walls just in time. He exhaled, loud and sharp, as he rode out his own throes of satisfaction before his body sank back onto hers, pinning her to the dark floorboards.

They lay together, eyes closed, bodies twined together and swimming with contentment as they caught their breath. She brought her face to the top of his head as it rested at her breast and planted her lips there as she ran her hand through the hair that had been growing noticeably longer. That had been quick, but it had also been well worth the wait and all the hell they'd given each other up to this point, she thought, running her mouth lazily along his moist skin.

As their bodies cooled, she became aware of an uncomfortable, cold feeling that coated the back of her thigh and pooled at the floor. She grimaced when she realized what the mess was.

"Ugh." She grunted under her breath, equal parts disgusted and amused. Daryl lifted his tired eyes to her in question looking a bit confused.

"Ya made a huge fucking mess." She chuckled. Befuddlement gave way to annoyance as he looked at her and finally rolled off.

"Shut up," He snapped voice thicker than normal. She worked to suppress a cluck of laughter as he reached over to his jeans ans fished through them for something, "Ain't nothin' compared to the mess Rick n' Lori are gunna be dealin' with a few months from now."

She covered her snickering mouth as he tossed the dirty rag he carried with him at her. She sat up to clean the offending stuff off her shaking leg, making small, yet exaggerated noises of repulsion to convey her distaste for the situation while still laughing.

"Pull out n' pray's the best we got now…I'll find rubbers or somthin' for next time." He said quietly from his spot on the floor.

She paused, sharply turning to him and shot him a look that said, "_Oh honey, you thought there'd be a next time?" _He looked at her, a bit shocked for a second, before realization crossed his features and he rolled his eyes away. She snorted at his irritation and lay back down, throwing an arm over his chest.


	26. Chapter 26

**This fucking week, man. Holy cow. I'd written most of this chapter out days ago, and then we had some wacky power surge while my lappy was plugged in. ZAP. Dead. And I hadn't saved and emailed it to myself as back up like I usually do. So I had to start all over again.**

**Then, the day I DID start to write it up again, I was mauled by one of my kids at work(Dog-kids. I'm a canine behaviorist, currently working with hybrids. If a child bit me...Well, I'd probably be way more upset about that) because, well...That's what happens when you go into a pen with a bag of deer parts and chicken necks and let your guard down. Oops. (HEY, IN CASE ANYONE DIDN'T KNOW, WOLF/DOG HYBRIDS AIN'T PETS. IDIOTS. STOP BREEDING THEM.) So, the injury to my arm has made it a bit tough to type fluidly or for long periods of time. **

**I gotta tell you, I honestly feel like I half-assed this out of frustration and just plain old not remembering half of what I wrote. So, sorry in advance if this chapter is boring, haha.**

**This chapter, for all it's lacking and sloth, is kind of important to Daryl's character. He's changing. Not much, but definitively. Also, it's cute. Don't get too comfortable with that shit, though. I hate cute.**

**Points to whoever knows who the quote is by. Negative points if you have to look it up.**

**And now, without further a bullshit, here's chapter 26. Thanks for reading and reviewing. New readers, let me know what you think! LOVE.**

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Darkness still surrounded him when his eyes slid open hours later, though it wasn't because the sun outside hadn't yet begun to scale the grey autumn sky. The sun was well into the sky, in fact. They'd slept longer than either of them usually did and the warmth of the day-star was now pouring through the office's high window. The color that was obscuring the light of the sun tickled his face for a moment before he'd recognized it as the tangles of her café noir hair.

They'd spooned up together after better judgment prevailed and forced them to replace their shed clothes. Being startled awake by the sounds of gunfire, ghastly moans, or, worse yet, the voice of the kid or Glenn while stark naked wasn't something either for them wanted to experience. They didn't, however, neglect to allow themselves some time to lay together, flesh on flesh, but evidently it hadn't been enough for her, as she'd slept with her hand draped over him, her fingertips buried innocently back in the waist of his jeans.

He'd waken her shortly after he came around, hating it, but knowing that someone would come snooping around soon, searching for both of them. Upon gathering up their weaponry, they'd exited the room and headed downstairs to the living area. Pru'd coolly dealt out a fib as to their whereabouts when Rick had questioned them.

"I couldn't sleep last night," she'd breezed, "I was wandering around and thought I heard something outside…Woke Daryl up so we could check it out."

He'd smiled internally but managed to keep his outward black look as he drew up a mental note about never letting himself get roped into a game of poker with the woman. Unspoken, she was apparently on the same page as he was as far as their tryst was concerned. Keep it quiet. Keep it _theirs_ for as long as they could before the nosy bastards around them pried too deeply.

After breakfast it was straight off into the surrounding forest to scout and familiarize themselves with the new geography and natural resources the land provided, as well as taking stock of any potential threats they'd need to be aware.

It was an uneventful scouting venture around the perimeter of the large lake and then east into the trees. The only thing wrong with the entire outing was the fact that Rick had insisted on going and proceeded to lumber around in back of them like a horse with a busted leg. Rick's steps were too heavy for Daryl's liking. Sure the man was stealthier than most, being a trained cop and all, but a person trained to hunt man and a person trained to hunt for food were two different things. Daryl had always thought of humans as inferior creatures, their senses dulled over millennia of sedentism. Animals, specifically the kind that were prey, had senses superabundant to that of man, and if you wanted to bag one, you damn well better lighten your step, button your lip, and clean your ears the fuck out.

Rick, apparently, hadn't gotten that memo and he'd spooked two targets from his crosshairs before Daryl had lost his patience, turned and snapped at him about not coming out to accompany them while they scouted or hunted again.  
The terrain was mostly ascensions and drops, rocky in some areas, but no less covered in the fiery hues of autumnal sycamore and sweetgum. They'd crossed a shallow gully with a creek that ran through it, finding that it was a common roost and dusting area for some particularly healthy looking tom turkeys. The huntress had actually spotted them before he had, god love 'er, and took the _easily_ twenty pound, feathered airship out. The sound of it bellyflopping to the dirt was as good as an oven timer dinging to herald a meal. The squirrels he'd caught could wait. They now had a deep freezer to think about filling up in time for winter. Tonight, they'd dine on a bird that, in their old lives, was eaten only in times of celebration and thanks. But as she'd yanked that bolt from the animal roughly and said something about being '_piss tired from last night'_ and wanting to get back before everyone started panicking their fool heads off, he felt that maybe tonight, for the first time in a long-ass time, he had reason to celebrate, even if he was a bit cagey about thinking about it.

Now as they broke free of the dense timber bordering their garrison, Rick was making off to head inside to both announce their return and head to sleep, as he'd not made it to bed yet. Daryl felt her boot intentionally connect with the back of his as the other man strode off toward the front door. When he turned, she was walking away towards the water, back turned to him. She plopped herself down on a boulder that jutted up from the ground, and he turned briefly to look over his shoulder, back at the observation deck. Herschel was up there taking his job as a sentinel a bit seriously, pacing fore and aft. He huffed and sat down a few feet from her, figuring that, of anyone, the old man was the least likely to say something to the others , give them shit, or question either of them about their sudden about-face in communication or closeness.

She began plucking away at the grey, white, and black barred feathers of the bird as he reached for his knife to start on his more-than-half-dozen squirrels.

"Save them feathers. I can use 'em later." He said as he cut into the flesh of the first rodent. She nodded to the bird and paused to remove her leather satchel from her shoulder, throwing it down next to her with the flap open so she could stuff a few of the sturdier plumes in. He looked up absently at the sound of the leather slapping against the rock it was placed upon. When he looked over, he could see the glint of black metal poking from the bag. He reached in and grabbed it, finding the shape and weight familiar. He pulled it free as she looked up. His Glock.

"You had this the whole time?" he asked gruffly.

"Don't look at me like that. I got it off the kid the morning we left the farm. His sticky little fingers nipped it from ya bike a while back. He was real proud of himself, too." She laughed as he went back to yanking the pinnae.

"Sonovabitch…Snot-nosed fuckin' kid." He griped, inspecting the weapon.

"Don't worry. I laid a nice, fat guilt trip on him. Told him he'd probably be the reason ya'd end up dead…I don't think he's gunna be touching things that aren't his anytime soon."

He grunted his approval and placed it back in the bag for safe keeping until they were done with cleaning the game, when something else caught his eye. It was much smaller and very much a part of the bag. He craned his neck and turned his head to read the initials he'd never noticed before that were etched into the well-loved leather.

_M.D._

"M.D.?" He hadn't thought he'd said it out loud, but evidently, he had.

"Meredith Dorsey. " she said with a rueful smile, "That was her bookbag. I bought it for her when she got accepted into Columbia…She took that thing everywhere. Even when we left…Fucking…People eating each other right in front of her face…She still refused to leave the books. Like if she dumped them, it was admitting that this-" she gestured around them, but meant the world and the state of it, "was actually happening."

He pursed his lips, not really knowing what to say, and started back into the flesh of the squirrel. They fallen back into their companionable hunters' silence and it wasn't until after the second animal was skinned and gutted that he spoke again.

"They had the same initials," He'd said quietly, "…Her an' Merle."

She laughed again, this time a bit of the sadness had left her voice, "Had?...Yeah, I figured that out when I found out his name was 'Merle'."

He glared at her a bit, and she laughed, butting the handle of her boot knife into his foot before she went to lop the head off the turkey she'd finally plucked clean. After a second he backed off, giving her a bit of a snort.

"…What's he like?...Like, really ?" she asked him suddenly as she began cutting into the bird's neck, "He couldn't have been all bad like everyone makes him out to be."

That caught him off guard enough to knock him on his ass if he hadn't already been sitting down. He was silent for a while, squinting at her, trying to figure out of it was an honest question or if she was just talking to talk. When she looked up to him expectantly, he'd gotten his answer. He looked back to the squirrel that half gutted in front of him.

"Why?"

"I don't know. 'Cause I never met him…And you obviously care about the guy. I figure it's important."

He considered her for a moment, though her eyes were busy with the bird she was now cutting into. This was not a topic he was comfortable talking about. His relationship with his older brother had been a complicated one. Fuck, it was _still_ complicated. Even though the bastard wasn't around, he still managed to complicate everything.

"Nah, he wasn't all bad…" he'd finally said before wincing a bit at the finish of his own sentence, "Just mostly."

He looked up from the knife when he saw that she'd stilled. Her face told of her disbelief. She'd expected to hear something completely different from him. That perhaps, Merle was rough around the edges, but ultimately an okay guy deep down. He hadn't been, though. Not really. Overall, what everyone at the old Atlanta camp had seen of Merle Dixon in the early days of this hell, that _was _Merle Dixon.

Loud, lecherous, foul-mouthed, drug-addled, racist, and just plain mean-as-sin, Merle Dixon. It didn't take a goddamn genius to figure things out. It's just the way things were.

The only thing that kept even him from hating his ass completely was the fact that, every so often, he'd do something small. Something slightly redeeming, but only for Daryl. How was he supposed to explain that to her? He'd seen and heard the wrath that sprang from her when someone crossed her. She'd shed no tears upon hearing that Shane had died. In fact, whenever the topic was breached, he almost thought he'd saw some sick _good riddance_ smile flash through her eyes. Then, of course, there were the two motherfuckers that crossed her right before they'd met. He had the feeling that _he_ was lucky to be left standing, let alone very much back in her good graces, after what he'd said to her a few days back, in the woods. And Lori…Even though the woman had hugged her close when she'd showed back up with Carl, she still made no attempt to talk to or even look at her. This woman didn't suffer ill treatment or harsh words in the slightest. Forgiveness wasn't something she generally practiced. He couldn't expect her to understand what kept him after his big brother all this time.

When Merle wasn't strung out or in the lock up for something or another, he'd come home and toss a pack of smokes at Daryl's feet, he'd help him drag and hang a heavy kill out in the shed, or when they had been much younger, he'd distract their daddy long enough with some dumb diversion like the promise of more booze or drugs so Daryl could scurry off and hide from the man that had grown fond of beating on him.

Those scraps of decency, few and far between as they were, Merle tossed to Daryl over the years, well, they'd kept the youngest of the pair loyal as a fucking Labrador through all the beatings, and the teasing, and him just not being around. Merle was the only family he'd ever had that wasn't cruel one-hundred percent of the time. He'd settled for five percent kinship, bending over backwards to keep the man close, appeased, and out of trouble when he could. It was all he'd known.

Now, though, with him gone he was finding that that loyalty was beginning to waver more and more. The voice that rang between his ears was becoming crueler and he could stand it less and less. That small amount of Merle that he'd loved as his brother; that was gone now. Swallowed up by the bad in him like the ocean's tide swallowed up the shore during a storm. Those scraps of decency were dead. Rotten. A corpse.

He was beginning to see that everything that his big brother had ever done for him, had really only been a service or benefit to himself. Daryl had only been a ride home from the bar when he was too drunk to even stand, a meal when his belly was empty, or bail when he was locked up.

He'd been conflicted for well over a month now about what had become of his brother after they'd found his severed hand on that rooftop. He went back and forth, tottering, about whether to believe if he was dead or not. In that moment though, prompted by Pru's askance, he decided that whether the man was actually, physically dead or not, he was dead to _him_. He no longer needed to cling to his blood. Blood that had used him. Blood that left _him_. Abandoned _him_. Something welled inside of him and allowed to push the man from his mind with finality.

"…You'da hated 'im more'n anybody." He finally found his tongue, "Sum'bitch is dead, anyway. It don' matter a mite."

Her lips firmed into a thin line as she studied his face, then her eyes flicked downward and she went back to cleaning the bird of its entrails.

"I thought ya said ya were banking on him still being alive?" she asked as she cut away. He shrugged, and stripped away a pelt from flesh.

"High time I pulled mah head out mah ass. Stop…holdin' vigil for someone who ain't caused me nothin' but grief all mah life."

"So you're giving up on him?" she asked honestly.

"Ain't givin' up if I just realized I should stop tryna' do right by someone shithead family member who only wronged me," he muttered, casting the pelt aside and starting in on the next animal, "I figure you'd understand that best as any."

She stared at him suddenly, looking shaken. He fretted an apologetic look her way and she nodded and then turned her head to gaze out across the water, growing quiet.

"How'd ya know?" she asked.

"Dunno." He replied quietly, studying his bloody fingers. They said nothing for a moment and he thought that that would be the end of the conversation. And he was thankful. So thankful, until she drew a deep lung full of air.

"He, uh…" her breath hitched and she paused, "My dad…He started out just saying things…Weird things, yanno? About my ass or whatever else… Not all the time, but…Then it started to happen more."

He felt sick at the words that he was hearing. Somewhere in the back of his head, he'd known, honestly, but hearing it…Actually hearing the words come out of her mouth, it was conformation that he never wanted to hear. Rage began to force the blood to pump through his ears in deafening spurts and he ground his teeth.

"Then one night…" she turned around to face him abruptly, tears in her eyes and shrugged. He ran his free hand over his mouth considering what, if anything, he was supposed to say on the matter. '_I'm sorry'_ seemed too fucking hollow. He lowered his head and tapped the broad side of the blade against his knee, sucking in a long, deep breath.

"There were alotta folks never shoulda had kids in this world…Me n' you…I s'pose we just got lucky enough to find that out the hard way…I know it ain't worth a shit, but m'sorry. No father should ever put his fuckin' hands on his babies."

There was silence again as she nodded at his words, and then she flipped the exchange back on him.

"…Who was it?" she asked as she wiped at her tears. He knew the question was next, especially since she'd finally seen and felt the scars last night. He accepted it. She'd just spilled her guts out, and he figured she'd needed to hear it.

"All of 'em. Mah daddy mostly. Mah mama, 'fore she died…Merle even. A lot," He said matter-of-factly, "Over everythin' an' nothin'…I still, uh, don' like the look'a them orange extension cords…"

He stopped to scratch at the back of his neck nervously. For some reason, a huge weight seemed to melt away like a heavy drift of wet, early winter snow. The drift that had trapped him there was comforting in the way that its icy press was all he'd known, but as it thawed, he felt a unfamiliar freedom at his admission.

"I'm sorry." She whispered.

He shrugged simply before softly wrapping her on the foot with the hilt of his knife, mimicking what she'd done before. "C'mon now. Finish up that bird 'fore I beat you with it."

They both chuckled at his dark joke and clamed up for the remainder of the time they sat together on the lake's rocky brink.

Dinner. Fuck if that bird hadn't been the tastiest creature he'd eaten since this whole thing began. Everyone had been thrilled when they saw them walk through the door with the thing, which had been roasted with canned onions, potatoes, and carrots. They'd be eating the leftovers for two days, but he didn't mind.

After dinner, which Rick had slept clean through, Pru had offered to take watch until he inevitably woke up and forced her to go to sleep. Daryl caught himself wanting to protest and offer either himself, or better yet, someone else up for the task, but he felt the action too conspicuous. He'd let her be and wait up for her to come back downstairs, whenever that was. His stab at staying awake, however, hadn't lasted that long. He hadn't even felt himself drifting off, but he'd realized it as he was coming too at the feeling weight straddling him. He startled, snapping his head up and grabbing for whatever had him trapped to the floor of the carpeted common area.

"Shh!" she hissed, catching his wrist tightly before softening, letting go, and bending to purr into his ear, "It's just me."

"Shit. Don' fuckin' do that." He scolded, voice hushed and choked with gravelly sleep. He felt her grope blindly for his face before her lips grazed his chin and settled softly at his lips. He kissed her back for a few seconds before tapping his left fingers at her right hip and breaking away.

"T-Dog and Herschel are sleepin' right over there." He breathed.

"That's fine," she said keeping her voice low as she rocked back onto her feet, stood, and started pulling him up onto his feet after her, "We're not staying in here…We both stink like walkers."

_Well, no sh- Ohhhh._

Once his mind made the connection, he was following her willingly as she blindly shuffled around to the other side of the pitch-black room, just past the kitchen, and down to the small locker room. She pulled the door to the black room open and led him in, whipping him forward so his shins connected painfully with a low bench. He growled at the dull pain as she closed the door, locked it, and flicked on the lights. He looked down at the pile of clothes he'd heard impact the tile floor with a muffled flop and then back to her. The woman was grinning like a damn Cheshire Cat.

"You pickin' mah clothes out fer me now?" he growled as he walked back to her and wound his hands up into the fabric of her shirt.

"Fuck ya, then. Only requirement I have is that they don't smell like shit. If ya don't like them go get some ya'self…I was just trying to be helpful." She teased defiantly and made a mock attempt to leave the room. He growled again and threw his arms around her waist, playfully hoisting her off her feet a bit to face her back towards the showers.

"Should wash that smart fuckin' mouth out on top'a yer stank ass." He grinned into her ear. She squirmed against his grip, laughing quietly and he let her go. She walked over to one of the shower stalls and pulled the lever on the tap. The rush of water and the angle at which it showered out took her by surprise, and she had to back up a bit so as not to get soaked. She shook her hands dry, out of habit, and then began to pull her boots off with her feet, looking to him encouragingly. He pulled out of his leather vest and hung it on a towel hook by the door. It was covered in muck and filth, but it just needed to be wiped down. He'd not chance lumping it with the rest of the laundry so someone could toss it in with the other clothes, ruining it. His shirt and pants were shed next, and quickly, as he watched her pull her head from her own shirt.

He walked forward as she wiggled out of her stained jeans and brought his hands to her broad, bare hips, drawing her close. She kissed him softly, leading him into the stall and beneath the cascade of hot water. The feeling of the water laving his skin of the muck that had collected over the week coupled with the press of her body against his was new and immense and simple and exquisite all at once. Just as the day had been.

Leave it to him and his luck that it would take the world ending and the dead walking the earth to finally have what was possibly the best and most peaceful day of his life. He scoffed himself at the notion as she pulled away from his lips, smiling.

"What's so funny?" she asked squinting her eyes a bit at the water that tried to run into them as she reached behind her for a bottle of shampoo.

"Nothing," he said voice thick and throaty, allowing his eyes to roam over her wet body as they were the water that poured over her from above. He ran them slowly from her knees to her neck, drinking her in as she lathered her hair. He stopped on the second pass at her collarbone and chest. He'd always known she had tattoos. Lots of them. They were visible on her neck and hands the first time he'd met her. Some time after that, he'd seen her chest and arms when she bared them to the world by shedding her zip-up. He'd never taken the time to really look them over, though, and now, for some reason, a particularly large levy of labyrinthine characters hooked his eye, piquing his curiosity. They began at her clavicle and tapered down to a single word just above her cleavage. He swept away a soapy tendrils that pooled at her collar and shoulder and ran his fingers across the ornate calligraphy there, trying to decipher it through all its loops, swells, and flourishes.

"What's that say?"

She opened one eye, shielding the other from the sting of the soap that threatened to run into it and smiled.

"You'll like that one, I think."

He grunted, urging her on to cite the words as he wiped away the soapy on her face. She moved to rinse the soapy mess from her head as she began to speak.

"_I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately…_" she paused to expel some water that collected in her mouth and started again as she started to massage the suds into his crown _"…to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived."_

He pulled away a bit, considered her words and soaped himself up, not minding the contact, but doing the action out of habit. He recognized them, but couldn't place their owner exactly, as it may have well been a thousand years since he'd read them. He grunted again, finally, in appreciation, always a man of few words.

"Smart guy, whoever said it." He allowed.

"Yeah."

He watched as her lips quirked and she pulled him in again for another deep kiss.

_...Hell on fuckin' Earth an' here I am._


	27. Chapter 271

I've experienced some weird writer's block with this chapter. I knew exactly where I wanted it to go but it just wasn't budging, so this is going to be part one of this chapter. I felt that I'd left you guys hanging for long enough, haha.

Not much to say besides thank you to all my readers, new and old for continuing to follow and review! I promise Part2 will be up ASAP. Hope you enjoy, guys!~~Laur

* * *

_K._

He'd been beneath her, arm draped around her back as the top half of her body rode the rise and fall of his steady, sleeping breaths. They were sleeping deeply until the sound of the door bumping back against the wall caused them both to startle and try to clamor to their feet. And then the flashlights. The _fucking_ flashlights. He'd thrown himself down on top of her instinctively, she figured, before either of them knew what the hell was happening and it just about crushed all the air right out of her lungs…And then came the snickering.

"Are you fuckin' kiddin' me?" he snarled. Pru then reached for her own flashlight once she realized what was going on and hucked it in their direction, missing because she was only half aiming. He'd pulled himself to his feet and stalked over to the now broken flashlight, snatching it off the floor whilst shooting what she assumed to be a rather vicious glare at the two women laughing in the doorway.

"Fuckin' broken. Don' throw these things, we need 'em!"

"The hell are ya yelling at me for?" she'd snapped from the floor pointing at the intruders, Michonne and Andrea.

"BECAUSE YOU JU-"

"Aw, guys. Is this your first fight?" Andrea mocked.

"Shut up." He grumbled flinging the door shut in their faces. Muted guffaws could be heard through the solid wood that separated them from the hallway as she looked at him, hoping he'd pick up on how angry she was.

He rubbed his hand down his tired face and she watched from the corner of her eye as he crossed the room and plopped back down next to her. He'd thrown his arm back around her to pull her back into him, but she withdrew obstinately.

"Cut it out. You ain't really pissed." He discredited. Her bluff thoroughly called, she slid her glaring eyes back to him, allowing herself to be pulled back into their previous sleeping position. After a moment of thinking about how absolutely ridiculous they'd been acting all week since they'd started this…whatever it was; sneaking around like children, lying about where they'd been. She'd begun to laugh into his chest.

"Go the fuck back to sleep." He'd reprimanded softly huffing in mock annoyance. They'd done just that shortly afterwards, both convinced that news would travel as quickly as a brush fire on the dry August savannahs.

When they finally woke up and left the room, they'd rounded the corner and pushed into the stairwell just as Lori was bounding up towards them; hand over her mouth and taking two steps at a time. They both skirted out of the way so the thin woman wouldn't slam into either of them. She pushed through the doors and into one of the bathrooms across the hallway that was part of the old visitor center.

When the door swung shut behind the retching woman, she turned to Daryl, grimacing a silent question to him of whether she should go check on her or not.

"Would you want someone hoverin' over you while you were givin' a speech like that? Ain't yer damn job anyway." He said rolling his eyes and they turned around to continue on back down the dim stairwell with him.

"Yeah, well, good luck trying to get Rick to deal with it, though." She said. Daryl grunted in agreement at her uttered criticism of their absentee leader. Over the last week it had become very apparent that there was some divisiveness between husband and wife. Rick had made seemingly every effort to avoid his family. The man was all but nocturnal now, making sure to take on both watch shifts through the night, refusing outright to relinquish either when someone offered. The man looked haggard when they would see him during their meals. He delegated the day's chores in the mornings, entrusting Daryl with the supervision and welfare of the group, and then he'd skulk off to bed in the room he shared, only in words and theory, with his wife, son, and Beth.

Lori, for her part, seemed just as content with the new arrangement. She made no mentions of her spouse in conversation and all but ignored his presence when they were in the same general area. The tension, as days went by, was causing their mealtimes to be rather quiet and awkward for the entire group, as it hadn't been just the new couple who'd noticed. Carol, at one point, had tried to question the pregnant woman to find out if the pair were alright, and for her caring was rewarded with a nasty remark that was completely uncalled for.

Daryl tried to stay out of the fray, but the more Rick pulled away from his wife, the more the hunter was pushed by Rick to be the default shepherd of their small flock, much to Daryl's admitted chagrin. The previous day had almost been his breaking point. He hadn't been out into the woods in days as he was needed at camp, and as such had little escape or release from his stress. So when Carl had decided he was going to 'help' Glenn and him fill up the generator and knocked an entire can of the precious fuel over, Daryl, according to Glenn, nearly lost his mind. He'd ranted and raved at the kid for a solid five minutes about how he was useless, and the kid walked around for the rest of the day looking like someone had backed over his dog with a semi. As much as she wanted to be angry with him for yelling at the boy the way he had, she knew she had no grounds for it. She'd said just as bad to the child before, and she knew that Daryl was trying. Having such an active role in the group was new to him, and he wasn't adjusting to it well.

They entered the living area together, expecting their cover to be completely blown. The lights in the living room section of the area were still off and the only light cast was from the smoldering log in the fireplace and the light from the kitchen. Carol was the only one up so far, and she was quietly starting to work on the morning meal. She looked up when she heard them enter and a small knowing smile crept across her face. Pru felt her face flush as she walked in and poured herself a mug of fresh coffee.

"Can't keep a damn thing quiet with you people around." Daryl clipped over his shoulder as he went to pull out a chair for himself. Carol lifted her hands in surrender and went back to opening the large tin of corned beef hash, smile still at her lips. Pru watched Daryl pause before sitting and then look back over to the woman behind the counter.

"Heckle and Jeckle still sleepin'?" he asked as he walked to the door of their room. Carol nodded simply, watching him. He threw the door open roughly and flicked the light on.

"Git up!" he bellowed into the room. The sound of a yelp came from the room and she could only assume the sound had caused one of them to tumble out of a bed. She stifled a laugh as he slammed the door closed. T-Dog and Herschel, who were still sleeping in the living area, both startled awake at the ruckus. They both looked between the shadow of the now smug man and she and Carol in the kitchen area, blinking and trying to figure out what the hell had just happened. Pru shook her head at them and laughed, pushing her hair back out of her face.

"Thanks for the wakeup call." T-Dog grumbled.

A few minutes later, Michonne and Andrea emerged from their room looking bedraggled after their rude awakening. She didn't acknowledge either of them from her spot on the couch as they made their way to the table. She wasn't angry with them necessarily, just annoyed.

The door swung open behind them as Carol began dishing out plates of hot food to the members of the pack that were assembled. She watched as Rick's droopy, dark eyes surveyed the group, nodding a greeting to them all as he sat.

"Anythin'?" Daryl asked Rick over his shoulder as he began spooning the corned beef and grits into his hungry mouth. Rick shook his head as he pulled the chair next to the other man out and sat down.

"Nothing," he said with an odd smile, "Very uneventful."

Daryl nodded at his answer and wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand as he swallowed the food down.

"How'd everyone sleep?" Rick asked as he scrubbed his hands over the stubble that covered his jaw. No one answered immediately. She watched as Daryl sucked at his upper teeth while eyeballing the two women that had woken them in the early hours of the morning, daring them to make some sort of joke. They made no attempt. Andrea was yawning widely and Michonne sat next to her glaring daggers back at the man as she prodded the food Carol had just added to her plate.

The door to the stairwell opened again and Lori's pale form appeared as she weakly walked across the carpeted floor, hand to the far wall to steady herself. She made her way to the laundry room, having obviously soiled her shirt with vomit. The noise caused Rick to glance over but when he recognized the shell of his wife, his eyes found his food interesting. If no one had answered Rick's bid for polite conversation before, they certainly weren't going to now. Pru caught Daryl looking over at the other man through the corner of his eye as the muscles of his jaw flexed in annoyance. She knew he normally wouldn't give a rat's ass about the state of someone else's relationship, but this was different. This was becoming his problem because Rick wasn't sharing the load.

Maybe the man _did_ need a break. He'd had a couple close calls recently, what with his best friend trying to kill him, losing the farm, being separated from his wife and then child, and then finding them, only to have them pull away for some reason…But everyone had experienced major losses and tragedies over the last few months. Everyone was worn down to their breaking point. Hell, most of the group had lost their entire family. Rick needed to get his shit together, stress or no. And soon, or it was going to spread through the group like gangrene.

"You know, that reminds me…" T-Dog began in an attempt at refocusing attention as well as solving the matter, "When are we gunna sort these sleeping arrangements out? I'm not usually one to complain, especially since this is the first time I've slept on anything besides the floor in months, but that chair is killing my neck and I'm just about done with being woke up at all hours."

The last part of the sentence, as well as his accusing eyes, was aimed right at Daryl who sent the look straight back accompanied by a scoff. Rick shoveled another heap of food into his mouth and then nodded.

"Yeah, I suppose it's time to take care of that now that we're settled. We can work on that today."

"Two to a room, and Carl with you guys should do it…We can just take apart the bunks and move them upstairs, rather than going out to look for more mattresses…Two will have to share that last futon for now until we can get another small bed." Michonne offered obviously having given the matter some thought.

"That's fine. Everyone should pair up and figure out what room they want." Rick replied.

"Rick," Herschel said, "I think you and Lori should keep one of the rooms down here. If we end up staying here long enough that the baby arrives, we'll want as many walls between that baby's cries and the outside as possible."

Rick continued to chew as he stared absently at nothing on the table, "Right."

"I wanna be as close to the doors as possible," Daryl piped up as he scraped the last bit of meat off the plate, "I ain't comfortable with most of you idiots bein' our first line'a defense if somethin' were to happen."

His comment pulled a few quiet chuckles from the group including her, though she knew there was more reason behind his pick than he'd let on.

…_And you want to be as far away from that screaming baby as you can when it gets here._

"Alright, then. Daryl and whoever's rooming with him get a room in the first floor, and uh, we'll take one down here. All the rest are up for grabs. We're gunna need to clear those rooms out and move the desks around to make room." Rick outlined.

"…Desks should go under those windows. Give us a few ways to get out besides the doors." Daryl provided.

"Okay. We start after everyone's up and eats…Everyone helps. Either you're cleaning out one of the rooms upstairs, taking apart those bunks, or you're moving furniture…We should be done pretty quick with everyone pitching in…Daryl, after that you and Glenn go out to the other side of the lake to those houseboats we saw a few days back…Pick them clean of bedding and anything else useful."

"Yeah." The redneck replied quietly. She could see in his face that he was rather relieved that the day would take him outside, away from the ranger station, though she knew it wouldn't be enough to really mollify his wanderlust. Over the last week he'd been saddled with watch, repairs on the generator and the water heater, the task of removing the metal-barred door from the gun closet and moving it into the first floor hallway so it could be used as a second buffer from the outside, and just generally keeping an eye on everyone. That had left her to venture out on hunts alone. She could see him practically buzzing from the cabin fever as he sat for the remainder of the conversation and meal.

"Lemme try that socket wrench." She said as she crouched in the lower bunk, holding her hand out to T-Dog. He passed her the tool and she went back to work. His massive hands had been far too large to move around the small spaces in between the metal support that held the upper bunks aloft, so she ended up having to dismantle the beds while he waited for them to be ready to separate. Everyone else was upstairs clearing out filing cabinets, desk drawers, sorting, and organizing anything they could use. The paperwork that had been upstairs was making its way down to the living area by way of Carl and Beth, one box at a time. It was to be stacked next to the fireplace and used as burning material in the coming colder months. Carol, Lori, and Maggie were busy going through everyone's clothing, and stashing it in the now empty desks and drawers in the rooms they would be staying in.

"There. Got it." She said with a smile, pulling herself from beneath the bed. She dropped the wrench to the bed under her and began pulling the mattress and bedding off in preparation for its journey upstairs.

"Here, grab that other end so we can move it down and out there for them." T-Dog suggested as he grabbed a hold of the end. She tossed the bedding out into the other room and saw Glenn, Daryl, and Rick rounding the corner.

"It's ready to go, boys." She said as she turned back into the room. Glenn ducked behind her to gather up the thin mattress and blankets and heaved a huge sigh.

"What?" Daryl groused, "Don' tell me yer tired already, man. You ain't even carrying the damn beds."

"No. I just hate stairs." Glenn yawned as he threw the blankets over his shoulder and lugged the thin mattress over to the stairs.

"Half way there. Three more trips after this." Rick consoled as he grabbed the end of the bare metal frame. Pru and T-Dog came back out of the room carrying the other metal frame.

"Only one more if they take that one." Daryl corrected as he squatted to help Rick lift. Pru paused unintentionally as she backed out of the room and the foot-end of the bed nailed her in the ribs as T-Dog continued to push it, knocking a bit of air out of her. Daryl turned at the sound and eyed her.

"No sense in movin' a bed nobody's gunna use up there. We can put that last futon in the room I'm takin'." He mumbled as he turned from her, back to the bed.

"Who're you rooming with?" Rick asked not understanding. Pru figured Rick, and everyone else who weren't already aware of their bond probably thought the single bed would be shared by Carol and Beth, perhaps, or maybe Michonne and Andrea because they were already sharing. She could see Rick and then T-Dog ticking off i the pairs who'd already claimed rooms in their heads. Everyone was accounted for except…

She felt T-Dog's eyes land on her just as Rick's connected with hers.

"Oh…" Rick said finally grasping what was going on between the two. Rick stared unblinking at her and she felt heat creep up her neck and into her cheeks.

"What?" she shrugged. Rick shook his head and made to open his mouth a few times before the words finally crawled out.

"It makes sense, is all."

Daryl huffed loudly as he began lifting his end of the bed again, "You gunna stand 'ere gossipin' or you wanna get this shit done?"

That snapped Rick back to lifting the bed rather quickly. He hefted his end of the bed and backed to the stairwell. When she pulled her eyes forward, they landed back on T-Dog. He looked smug. Absolutely smug. No clearer had any expression ever been. She rolled her eyes and lifted the bed's heavy frame once again.

"Shut up, T."

The damp air around her was heavy and cold as a wet rag as she slunk through the wood. Wet, rain-soaked, autumn leaves absorbed the sound of her treading as it had the water that fell through the red and yellow canopy. Because Daryl's time over the past week had been monopolized by work around their new camp, she'd been responsible for providing the group with fresh kills daily, as well as gathering whatever else she could for their winter stockpile.

He didn't like it. There'd been a small disagreement; nothing major, but resistance on his end, nonetheless. Maybe it was because he wasn't comfortable relinquishing his job as cardinal provider, maybe because he was jealous that she was venturing out while he stayed behind to keep an eye on things…Or maybe he just didn't like the idea of her going out there alone again. She couldn't be sure of anything, except the fact that he hadn't been very happy about it.

He bid her stay until he could free himself from his charge or until he could maybe pawn it off on Glenn, but she'd pointed out that it would be quicker this way. By the time he was able to go, it would have been too late in the day. The light hours were growing shorter and shorter still, leaving it unsafe for them to be wandering around the forest in the evenings. The danger exacerbated today by the mist that was currently making it difficult to see more than a few feet in front of you if you ventured outside.

He couldn't put up much of a fight about it, though. She'd convinced him that she was right, even though she knew he'd known it all along. She'd been out multiple times this week without incident, and it wasn't like she'd suddenly been rendered incapable of handling herself in a shit situation now that he openly cared about if she'd come back or not.

"Would ya want _me_ telling ya not to go on the little run you're about to do?" she'd asked. That was all it took for him to acquiesce and she knew then she'd never hear another word on the matter. He'd shifted his weight in annoyance as she pulled the green rain slicker from the storage closet and she smirked at him.

"Go on, then. An' make it quick. I don' got time to be chasin' yer ass all over the fuckin' mountain." He had grumbled back at her.

She laughed to herself about it quietly as she stuffed another fat squirrel into her leather pack and kept moving. She wasn't as good at tracking as Daryl was, but the ground being wet from the misty rain that had finally let up held impressions left by wandering animals better than the normally dry turf did. She knew deer tracks when she saw them and she'd been following them for some time now and felt by her pace and the slow, purposeless meandering of the tracks the animal had made while searching for food, the she would be catching up to it soon.

After a bit more stalking, she came upon the animal. The large buck's size and impressive antlers spoke of its health. It would keep the group in fresh food for a while. It stood about twenty yards from her. She was close enough to get in a clean kill shot, but if she missed her mark and the animal ran off wounded, she preferred that it ran its way back towards the way she'd come. Back towards camp.

The buck was too busy scenting and marking trees with its antlers to know she was there. Rut had that effect on male deer. It made their minds of a singular thought; finding as many mates as possible. She circled around it, making sure to give it a wide berth in case she was spotted. This time of year, the deer were amped up and full of hormones and tended more towards fight than flight. She remembered her uncle telling her a story, years ago, about a friend of his who was gored to death by a deer he'd shot. The animal had turned on him in a defensive rage and killed him quickly. She wasn't about to fall to a deer after surviving all these months among the dead.

She settled behind a tree, closer now, but still downwind and lined up the shot. She tagged it in the right spot upon letting the bolt go, but as she'd expected, the hormones and adrenaline worked like a drug guarding against death, and the animal took off in the opposite direction. She gave chase, knowing it couldn't last long with a mortal wound like that, and after about five minutes, she came upon it struggling as it bled out internally. She kept her distance as she caught her breath and drew one of her Berettas so she could end its life quickly, firing a single kill shot into its proud crown.

She kicked at it to make sure it wasn't getting back up and then crouched, pulling her knife from her boot to begin dressing it.

"Shit." She cursed under her breath as she tore the handmade arrow out, suddenly realizing that the animal's size was going to be a huge problem for her. The thing was about two hundred pounds of dead weight now. It was going to be far too heavy for her to carry back without leaving herself almost completely blind to her surroundings and exhausted if she ran into trouble. Her two options were to either leave the thing whole and drag its heavy ass, what must have been a mile by now, back to the ranger station and end up completely drained half way through, or to dress it and lop off the parts that they'd not get much use out of anyway like the head and neck, and the legs below the knee. That would have lessened the load by at least sixty-five pounds, making it completely manageable if she were to piggyback it…But if she had to drag it, she'd risk contaminating the exposed meat with mud and leaves.

She decided on the latter option eventually. It wasn't worth slowing herself down over. If she lost this kill because it ended up dirty, she figured it was better to be able to come back out tomorrow and bag two to make up for it, rather than being dead.

She knelt down and started in on gutting it. Making delicate incisions through the hide and up the belly, she let the guts spill out. She slipped her knife back into her boot sheath so she could reposition the carcass without it collection filth in the sticky blood that covered the blade.

Just as she began clearing out the abdominal cavity, she heard a twig snap behind her. Her blood ran cold in her veins as she spun around and pulled her gun. It was about on top of her when she turned to face it. Its teeth and gums were exposed from its lips drying out and receding, skin beneath the torn mossy-oak t-shirt grey, divested, and tough from being long dead was now slicked with the moisture that dripped from the treetops. This walker looked like it had been about her age before death came for it.

She let out a loud yelp of shock and rolled away from its reaching, skeletal grasp as it stumbled forth. As her pursuer dipped, she could see a second behind it, closing in. They must have been attracted by the commotion she and the deer made as they tore through the trees. The heavy scent of fresh, hot blood in the air probably hadn't helped, either. She aimed her gun at the first as she scooted away from it in the muck and leaves, but her blood soaked hands and her distress caused her to fumble the safety. Her thumb just couldn't get purchase on it, and her grip on the gun slackened causing it to drop to the forest floor.

She screamed again as it sprung and she kicked wildly, trying to get her feet underneath her. Her boot plowed into its boney right knee, snapping in half like a dry piece of kindling. The walker tumbled to the earth but continued to pull forward, now to her left through the damp soil with the second still advancing.

"SHIT!" she screamed shrilly as she kicked at the closest one's face. It grabbed her boot just as the second toppled forward on its back in a clusterfuck of outstretched decaying arms and gnashing jaws.

In the back of her mind all she could hear see was Daryl's face when he inevitably tracked her down after when she didn't come home. His eyes as he looked upon her mangled bones after they'd been picked clean by walkers and the crows.

"NO!" she cried again, louder as a second pair of cold, rotting fingers wrapped around her calf, "PLEASE, NO!"


	28. Chapter 27Two

**Did you like that I left you hanging there? Pretty awful of me. I know.**

**I miss being able to churn out a chapter in a day. I don't know what the hell happened there. Sorry, kids! We're about to experience a bit of unsettling drama, kids. Hope you're strapped in. All I can say is "poor Rick".**

**On another note, I'm thinking about doing two things. First, I've always hated how I never titled these damn chapters. That may change soon...I've had a couple of words and phrases that I wanted to use for some of them so long...And the thoughts just seem to be wasted if left in my idiot head. I know that's got nothing to really do with anything, but...I don't know. Let me know if you think it's worth it.**

**Also, I've been listening to a certain album a whole lot while writing this chapter and the more I fucking listen to it, the more it eerily FITS this story, not only lyrically, but emotionally, and it sets the correct tone for a ton of the chapters sound-wise. Like it's almost Freudian how well some of the songs fit certain chapters, so much so that I just want to share! I know lots of people do song fics, but I feel like I want to start accompanying past and future chapters with song. if you're interested in it. I won't be going back into past chapters to edit things and drop mentions of the lyrics of song titles. I feel like I just want to make a mix list(i.e. I will make a list of songs that pair with each chapter and I can PM you with it if you're interested). That way, anyone who is actually reading and enjoying this can get a neat little *extra* to go along with it, and...I can be lazy at the same fucking time. And as the chapters go, I can just slip them into the notes up top. *Song Rec*...Or whatever.**

**So let me know what you guys think about those little ideas. And let me know what you think in general!**

**Readers, love to you for all your kind words and feedback. It's greatly appreciated. Keep those reviews coming!-Laur**

* * *

No matter how hard she kicked, they wouldn't relent. The bone shackles tightened around her ankles, fingers digging deeper and deeper into the leather of her boots. Her lower appendages were flailing at the disgusting, flesh-hungry monsters fruitlessly as she attempted to pull away, and all she could think about was how impossibly tight their grip was. It was like the grip of the Devil, Himself, come to drag her down into the torturous depths of Hell. Heart hammering in her ears, she watched in slow motion as the second of the two walkers opened its carious maw and went to sink the teeth within it into her knee.

_This is it._

Something came down hard on the face of the looming cadaver crushing its features. A second blow finished it off and it slumped off top of the first, who was now gnawing at her boot leather. The metal object came down once more cracking its soft, putrefied head open like a pumpkin and she just stared. She stared and stared at the familiar features made unfamiliar by the current expression they'd held. Rage, intent, and gratification incarnate stared down at the wasted bodies, clutching tightly to a tire iron. The face turned to her slowly and softened with realization as the body it belonged to knelt down at her side.

Carol Peletier had just saved her ass from certain death and was now pawing at her legs. Her mouth moved quickly and she felt her hands tugging at her trying to get her to stand up as she looked around franticly. Pru couldn't make out anything she was saying over her still thundering heart, and she felt herself making some kind of confused face at the woman.

"Pru! Did they get you? Look!" Carol asked as she grabbed her face. Pru shook her head away and laid back into the wet leaves sucking in heavy, shuddering breaths. Again, Carol was over her, pulling her reluctant body into a sitting position.

"You can't just lay here, we have to go. Something may have heard you!" Carol urged. Pru pushed weakly to her feet with her aide and looked around absently, trying to figure out if everything that just occurred had actually happened, or if she was…say, abducted by aliens and had a foreign and insane memory implanted in her mind.

She looked to the carcass of the deer she'd been dressing, then to her fallen gun, to the corpses at their feet, and then finally back up to Carol's face. Yes, evidently that had all just actually occurred. Her brow knit, still confused and her mouth moved like that of a fish drowning in air on a dock.

"Wh- What are ya doing out here?" she asked as she went to retrieve her discarded gun.

"I've been sneaking off during the day to get better with this," Carol answered as she pulled a little handgun from her bag, "I try to stay away from the building so I don't draw them to us with the sound…I-I heard you scream, so I ran." she explained as she stooped to look her legs over.

"Did they get you?" she asked again. Pru shook her head and pulled the legs of her pants free of her boots.

"I don't think so. I don't feel anything."

Carol looked her over and stood once she was satisfied that there were no bites or scratches and pulled her into a hug. Pru accepted the grounding contact gratefully and mumbled words of thanks into the other woman's shoulder. The older woman looked around again as they separated, combing the woods nervously with her eyes for anymore interlopers.

"We should go. Do you think they heard?"

"Maybe," Pru said, squinting her eyes as she ran them over the area, drawing in deep breaths and finally steadying herself once more, "But we're not leaving without my deer. I'm not done dressing him."

She looked back to the animal and crouched to pull her knife free again before walking back over to it.

"Can you do that quickly?" Carol said voice shaky, spinning in a small, slow circle eye to the forest.

"Yeah, almost halfway done. Just keep an eye out…If there's too many, we can just run." She said. They grew quiet and Pru thought about something Carol had said.

"Wait," she paused, hand now up inside the buck's deep chest, "You said you snuck out?"

Carol looked back and nodded at her before turning back to the trees, "Yeah."

"Man, if Daryl gets back before we do he's gunna have a litter of fucking kittens when he finds out ya wandered off alone." She warned. She'd been out a good six hours by now, wandering aimlessly through the forest for about half the time. Daryl and Glenn were to travel around to the other side of the lake after noon-time, but she knew they'd be just about done by now.

"No one will notice. They haven't the last couple days…Besides, I'm not alone, now, am I?"

"Right," Pru laughed, "Get us both in trouble with him. This is a great plan…I suppose I owe ya one though, huh, Rambo?"

She looked up to Carol again and watched as she rolled her eyes, though a very faint smile pinched at the corner of her lips as she held tight to the tire iron.

"…I guess you hanging around with Michonne and Andrea's got them rubbing off on ya?" she asked as she cut through the windpipe.

"It's got nothing to do with them, really. I'm tired of being useless…Of not being able to protect myself or anyone else."

Pru looked back over to Carol as she stood steadfast and ready to swing on anything that happened by with that metal rod. She frowned.

"You're not useless, Carol." She said quietly.

The middle-aged woman turned to her slowly. Her eyes shone with gratitude and fulfillment as she pressed her lips into a tight smile. "I was…But not anymore."

They could hear shouting as they neared the ranger station over the sound of the rain as it picked up again. It wasn't shrill or frantic like they'd expect to hear if there was a herd rolling through. Instead it was the sound of frustration and urgency as it escaped into the damp air via Daryl and Rick's voices. Daryl had apparently woken Rick up to join the search when he couldn't find Carol. Great. Pru and Carol exchanged a glance before hoisting the heavy carcass up a bit higher off the ground and broke into a jog as they cleared the trees.

Daryl and Rick were pacing about the unpaved lot in front of the entrance to the lodging, looking for fresh footprints in the mud, she assumed. The women's quick, heavy footfalls pulled their eyes up in their direction and she felt the beams of their visage searing through her, even from that distance. Daryl's angry strides were eating up the distance between them quickly, but beneath the anger she could see his shoulders slump a bit with relief. Rick was also in a rage and closing in on them just a step or two behind Daryl.

"You took her out without telling me?" the hunter demanded as he pointed over to Carol. He stopped about a foot away and looked both of them up and down, "What happened?"

It registered vaguely in her head that she was covered head-to-toe in dirt and mud, while Carol was sporting a rather becoming splatter pattern of gore and brain matter all down her front. It was pretty obvious what had happened. She didn't feel the need to explain it.

"I went out on my own and ran into her later." Carol disclosed, chin in the air, fully prepared to take the brunt of the tongue lashing the men were about to deal out.

"What?" Daryl said incredulously with an angry snap at the end of the word. He fixed Carol with a sharp glare.

"You heard what I said, Daryl. I went out way after she'd already left. I was practicing with one of the guns…I didn't want to do it right around here. She had no idea I'd gone out. It's got nothing to do with her." Carol explained with an edge to her voice. Pru watched as Rick puffed up like an angry dog and sneered.

"You _cannot_ just run off alone without telling anybody! It's not safe out there, Carol!" he roared. It was so uncharacteristic of the man that even Daryl balked, backing up a half step.

"I'll take unsafe over oppressive at this point, Rick." She defied bravely in response.

"Is that really how you feel?" he hissed through his gritted teeth. She looked back to Carol who stood stock, looking him directly in the eye.

"Do you really not see what I'm trying to do here, Carol?" Rick muttered.

"I don't see you trying to do anything besides be a tyrant."

Rick looked away and sneered at the trees before turning around to refocus his anger on the next person in line. Daryl.

"And you were supposed to be watching them. All of them." He accused. Daryl bristled quickly. It was like someone doused a Christmas tree made of polyester and newspaper in kerosene and then took a blowtorch to it.

"I ain't nobody's damn babysitter, Rick." He barked. Rick's eye twitched at Daryl's yelled response to the charge and he set his jaw. Something about the look in the man's eyes caused an anger Pru hadn't realized she was harboring for him to boil over, then. She rocked back on her heel as she dropped the weight of the buck to the ground and squared one hand at her hip, pointing the other right between the fuming man's eyes.

"Ya know who you're starting to sound like, Rick?" she challenged, glowering at the side of his face. He snapped his icy stare over to her catching exactly what she was implying. His mouth pulled into a tight puckered snarl.

"This matter doesn't currently concern you, Pru." He said, voice turning dark and cold as his body tensed and his eyes glazed over. For the briefest of moments, she felt as if the once sweet, level-headed man would lash out at her. Perhaps even in a physical sense. Daryl, too had apparently felt it, and he shifted his weight putting himself in between her and their leader.

Rick's staring match with her was broken by Daryl's broad shoulders. She peeked around him after a second to look upon Rick again, only to see the man looking around confused and aimless like he'd suddenly been struck blind. His breath quickened and became erratic as one of his hands slowly rose from his side, palm facing them as if he'd made to either brace himself against Daryl's shoulder or halt the rush of the insane world around him. She watched as his chest seized up and he stumbled backwards, falling flat to the cold, wet puddles that had formed in the drive.

"Oh my god!" she gasped, "Rick!"

She and Daryl immediately ducked to Rick's side, abandoning the anger and argument. He had a terrible pained look his face as he clutched at the tiny rocks at his side with one trembling hand while making sick choking sound. His body began to twitch as he lay there taking quick, strangled breaths.

"Shit! Rick!" Daryl yelled, voice almost demanding that his body to knock off whatever it was doing.

"What's happening to him?" Carol cried from behind them. Pru looked over to the woman. Her hand was to her mouth and she looked horrified and guilty.

"I don' know, goddammit! Daryl snapped, "Don'jus stand there! Go get Herschel!"

Carol ran off through the now pouring rain to the front door. Pru heard her calling out desperately for help before she heard it click closed behind her. She looked up to Daryl who looked equally as horrified and confused as she was. He was usually her breakwater jetty, calming seas rough with tumult by his mere presence, but as his hands hovered over their prone friend, she saw a bit of fear in his eyes and it just about knocked the wind out of her.

She looked back down to Rick and he was still staring up into the grey rain clouds above him, struggling to take air into his lungs. He began grasping with his violently quaking hand at his chest and throat.

"I-…I can't…My ch-est…" he choked out. She felt tears welling up in her eyes.

"It's okay, Rick."

"Git 'em up. C'mon." Daryl ordered as he started grabbing at his wet limp arms. She helped him pull Rick's limp body up and draped one of his arms over her shoulders and hoisted one of his legs up into her other arm. They shuffled under the shared weight to the entrance and just as they reached it, the doors swung open and Herschel, Maggie, and Glenn appeared in the doorway.

"What happened?" Herschel asked as he moved aside to let them in.

"Idunno, man! He jus' fell over an' said his chest hurt!" Daryl barked. Glenn came over and hefted Rick's weight away from her and she fell in step behind them with Maggie as Lori, Carol, and Carl burst through the stairwell doors in front of them.

"DAD!" Carl yelped as he ran over. Lori stood with Carol just in front of the door. She looked on in horror as her husband was carted into the stairwell.

"Git outta the way, kid!" Daryl growled as he adjusted the man's weight in his arms. Carl skirted around and out of the way and Pru grabbed a hold of his shoulder and towed him along with her.

"Is he having a heart attack?" Pru directed at Herschel. As she completed her sentence, she heard Lori as she began chanting '_Oh my God' _over and over again.

"I won't know until I get him upstairs and check him over." The old man said as they began making their way up the stairs.

When they reached the intended room, she stayed behind outside with Carol and Carl. The men who were carrying Rick, along with Lori, Maggie, and Herschel went in. The kid looked up to her as the door closed in front of them.

"Is he gunna be okay?" he asked her as he struggled to fight back tears. She looped an arm around his shoulder and pulled him close.

"I hope so, Bud." She said softly.

The door opened a second later and Daryl and Glenn exited the crowded room. She made brief eye contact with Daryl and he shrugged and shook his head as he chewed at his cuticles. He looked fucking rattled.

"I'm gunna go find everyone else. I'll be right back." Glenn said as he ran a hand down his face. Daryl nodded as he backed up to the wall next to the door he'd just come from and slid down it into a crouch. She took a cue from him and rested her behind on the desk in back of her with Carl still hugged to her.

Fifteen minutes later the rest of the group, save for T-Dog who'd offered to stay on watch, had been gathered in the office area outside the room. Everyone waited in tense silence, staring at that damn door and waiting for it to swing open so whoever walked through it to give them some good news.

She thought back to the last time she'd waited around in a situation like this. It had been about five years now. Her Aunt had been sick for a while, and she'd gotten a call from her doctor while at work one night. He'd told her that she needed to come down to Christ Hospital as soon as she could. She flew from the bar after she'd called the owner, left one of the trusted regulars in charge, and drove through the worst fucking snow storm she could ever remember to that hospital. When she got there, she couldn't get the nurses to tell her a damn thing. They just kept directing her back to the waiting area saying things like, '_Dr. Lessard will be with you shortly'_ or _'It'll just be a few more minutes, Miss Dorsey'_.

Four fucking hours she'd waited without a fucking word, and after all that her Aunt Bridget was dead. Yeah, she hated waiting for news like this, she decided. She'd take that walker from earlier sinking its raunchy teeth into her femur over this crap.

The creaking of the old hinges on the door drew her from her memories. Maggie appeared in the door first followed closely by her father. Herschel shut the door quietly and looked over all the waiting faces.

"He's fine. It was just an anxiety attack, best I can figure… Probably brought on by stress and lack of sleep." the veterinarian explained. A collective sigh of relief escaped the lungs of the waiting members.

"Hey, we found a whole bunch of medication on those houseboats today. Maybe there was something in there that box I brought up?" Glenn offered.

"I checked, Glenn. There was some Xanax in there…And some Melatonin. Good thing, too…He's coming down out of it now. He told me he hasn't slept more than a few hours' worth, here and there, since Dale passed." Herschel continued.

"That's just about two weeks ago!" Andrea said.

"S'plains a lot." Daryl huffed, pulling himself to his feet and crossing his bulky arms. Herschel nodded at that.

"Going that long without sleep will do terrible things to the mind in the_ best _situations, never mind the Hell we've all been through. I'm absolutely amazed he's made it this long on sheer will without cracking…He needs to rest and not to be bothered…For at least two days, maybe more."

"Can I see go see him?" Carl asked.

"I think it best you let him be right now, son," he said before turning to regard Daryl, "We should move him back downstairs to his bed once he's unwound a bit more."

Daryl nodded again and shifted his weight, "S'fine. I'mma go back outside. Hang an' skin that buck 'fore some geeks come stumblin' through lookin' for an easy meal…Come get me when yer fixin' to move 'im."

He turned and pushed off through the door. She loosened her grip on Carl finally and stood, tugging at her dirty, rain soaked pants as they sagged from the weight of the water. She watched as everyone began standing and moving to dissipate from the area to go back to what they'd been doing before the chaos. She waited a while, gathering her thoughts before she realized the light outside was beginning to fade into dusk. She wanted very badly to go seek him out, to check on him, though she knew he'd made himself scarce for a reason.

She moved to the window, searching for a glimpse of him through the beads and bands of water that collected on the pane. Through the rivulets and the dull evening light outside, her eyes found him standing, sheltered from the rain beneath the proud arms of one of the evergreens that bordered the man-made clearing that they inhabited. He was skillfully sliding the blade of his sharp knife between the thin skin and the flesh of the buck, preparing it to be butchered.

She suddenly felt extremely exhausted. It made sense, seeing as how she'd had such an intensely unnerving day. Her mind floated back to poor Rick as she walked away from the window, and she couldn't fathom how the hell he'd gone so long with barely any rest. She'd had a full night's sleep last night, but even so, after the atrocious day she had, she felt completely zapped. Conscious-stricken now over what she'd so harshly charged Rick with before his collapse, she wanted nothing more than to shower the filth of the day away, skip dinner, and crawl into bed.

She woke many hours later to a dark room and the sound of the door clicking shut as he gently pulled it closed. She rolled over onto her back and propped herself up, squinting her slumberous eyes to his befogged shape.

"S'jus me." He assured softly as he pulled his jacket and vest off and hung it over the back of a chair in the corner of the dark space. His thermal shirt came over his head next and it hit the floor with a wet slap.

"You're soaked." She rasped, rubbing her eyes awake.

"Still rainin'," he sniffed as he sat down on the edge of the flat futon and pulled his boots off, "Jus' came from watch."

He pulled his feet up and lay back, shucking his soaked jeans as well before tossing the thin, scratchy blanket and open sleeping bag over himself, trying to get warm.

_So much for the rule about sleeping naked._

As he settled into the warmth of the nest made up of mattress, covers, and her body, his clammy skin brushed her bare arm and she jumped at the sensation.

"God! Ya feel like a block of ice!" she gasped as she flinched away initially. He grunted in agreement as he shuddered. After recoiling, she threw her arm over him and pulled his back into her, sharing her body heat with him. He heaved a sigh that may have made her think she was needling his nerves had he not accepted the touch and heat so eagerly.

"How's Rick?" she breathed into the back of his neck.

"Fine. I looked in on 'im 'fore I came up 'ere. He's still out…Lori's up sittin' with 'im." He mumbled as he tugged the blankets up to his chin and pressed his head further into the pillow.  
"…I feel fucking awful."

"Fer what?…We didn' know." He said as if he was trying to convince himself of it, too. He sounded so quiet and unsure, and it did nothing to help settle the feeling of blameworthiness that was clawing at her. She fought with herself for a bit about whether she should pry to his mind's state, and whether he'd even divulge if she asked. Her concern won out over the common sense answer she'd concluded to in her head.

"You okay?" she prodded.

He turned over slowly and shot her a look as if she'd just grown a second head. _Now _he was annoyed. He rolled his eyes and shook his head at her.

"I'm fine. I jus' ain't lookin' forward to playin' nursemaid…Wipin' everyone's ass til Rick's head's right." He groused as he turned back onto his side.

Why the hell had she even bothered? She huffed and propped her head up on her hand behind him as she lightly dragged the nails of her other hand over his chest.

"Ya don't need to stick around tomorrow. I'll keep an eye on everyone so ya can go clear ya head for a few hours," She offered quietly as she rested her chin on his bicep. He turned his head to look up at her before she continued, "I don't feel like going out again tomorrow anyway."

His eyes narrowed after that and she immediately kicked herself for stirring up the sediment of the day's events after they'd settled to the back of his mind.

"You still ain't told me what happened out there today." He said in a harsh whisper. She rolled away from the contact with his body this time but he flipped over just as quickly and threw an arm over her middle, mirroring the position they'd just been in.

"How many?" he grunted.

"Two." She said angrily as she glared at the wall the bed was pushed up against.

"Where'd they find 'er?" she asked, a bit softer now that he was making headway in his interrogation.

"Find who? Carol?" she bit out as she turned onto her back and looked up at him exasperated both that he wouldn't let it go, and that she was actually continuing the conversation with him. "Carol saved _my_ ass today, Daryl."

The muscles around his eyes drew tight and his jaw slackened as he gaped at her, "What?"

"I was dressing the deer when they snuck up on me. I dropped my gun and they got me pinned. That's it. It was a mistake," she warned, "It coulda happened to either of us."

The feeble amount of light coming through the window allowed her to see him set his jaw. The look on his face was furious worry. She could just about feel his lecturing words coming out of his mouth already.

_You din' hear the sum'bitch comin'? _

_What the hell is wrong with you? _

_You gotta pay attention out there!_

…_Hell if I let yer ass out there alone again._

She pushed into a sitting position, angling him with another glare of her own.

"Don't make that fucking face at me, Daryl. It coulda been your ass just as easy, and ya wouldn't let me say anything to ya about it…What did I say this morning? Ya wouldn't want me stopping ya from goin-"

His mouth found hers as he sat up, interrupting the aggravated spill of words that flowed forth. He was ardent as he pushed her down to the bed with just is weight. He broke from her as she felt her head hit the pillow beneath it.

"I ain't gunna stop you from nothin' 'cept naggin' me to fuckin' death." He rumbled, bringing a hand to cup her face affectionately. He put his lips back to hers and she felt her vexation melting away with the warmth coming from his still chilly body and she yielded her barrage once and for all. He ground himself against her hip as he pulled his body on top of hers fully, and she looped a leg over the back of his, granting him a teasing amount of space for him to settle into.

She moaned as he wore down on her with his already firm length again and his hand drew to her hip where a pair of low riding sweatpants rested. He moved his weight from between her legs and brushed them down with his palm, grazing her sex with the pads of his fingers, causing her eyes to slip shut. Her lungs and heart fluttered at the purposely inadequate attention and she searched with pleading movements, begging for another brush of attention from his hand. He obliged as he came to rest his body next to her and slipped his fingers back down and over her moistness, placing a slight sweeping, rolling pressure between her thighs for a bit before he slid his digits inside. Her eyes snapped back open as a tiny whimper broke free from her throat, and she looked up into his devilishly lidded eyes as he teased her.

She keened a breathy string of swears at the ceiling when his hot mouth on her neck joined the taunt. He scored her delicate flesh with his almost-too-rough bites before kissing and licking the sting away. It was as if someone had written down a list of shit that drove her up the wall and pressed it into his hand before he'd entered the room, knowing that he'd get a chance to put it to good use. The way he was pressing his fingers in and out and over that little bump was making her innards knot and her skin blaze.

She reached down to where his hand was playing and his face snapped up to regard her with an enthusiastic, sly smile obviously thinking she meant to aide him in his work. She grabbed his hand, pulling it from its movements, and flung it back and away from her before sitting up and tossing a bare leg over his equally bare pelvis. He looked flummoxed for a small second before husking out an utterance as she brushed herself against his long warmth.

"Even better," his voice came in a lewd whisper, and she saw the faint flash of a grin in the dark as he was grasping firmly at her hip with one hand, "…Hang on, though. Gimme mah pants."

He shifted a bit beneath her, reaching the other hand to fish over the side of their makeshift bed for the sopping wet article of clothing, and she just blinked at him. She heard and felt him grunt in frustration when his efforts to grab the pants up were coming up short.

"Well? You wanna do this or not?" he asked good-naturedly. Her heavy panting punctuated in a huff then, not understanding what the hell was in the soggy jeans that couldn't wait until later, and bent over the side to pull them up to his waiting hands. He took them and began searching through the pockets. In the dark, she could hear the crinkling of a plastic wrapper as he pulled whatever it was from the article of clothing before tossing them back to the floor. She groped in the dark for his hands, searching out the object he was now holding. A condom. Four of them, actually.

"You _asked _Glenn?" she snickered, picturing in her mind how awkward that situation must have been for both men.

"Fuck no." he said sharply as he bit into the wrapper to open in, one hand still grasping firmly at her thick hip, "…Maggie."

She laughed at that. Yes, Maggie would have made the angle much less blundering, but she still saw him in her mind's eye strolling up to the girl, trying to play it cool in the face of his little mission, and failing miserably…Especially because Maggie, like herself, was the type of girl who saw through bullshit. She could imagine her cocked eyebrow as he mumbled the favor and the thought pulled another bout of coy laughter from her.

"How'd that work out for ya?" she smiled, ghosting her hand seductively over the skin below his navel, moving back to allow him access to roll the thing on.

"I got 'em, didn't I?" he groused as he finished up. She snorted at his tone as she climbed back higher on his hips and ground herself against his wantonly.

"Yeah," she hissed, pushing at his shoulders roughly to force him back down to the futon pad, "Now what else ya got for me?"


	29. Chapter 28

**This chapter is short and sweet. Emphasis on the short. And sweet. Maybe overly sweet, but Daryl is coming to realize that he's built relationships over the last few months with the other people around him, as well as Pru. This is chapter is necessary for what's to come.**

**Because I did two Pru chapters back to back, I'll even the odds and do up another Daryl...And in that next chapter, well, let's just say things are going to get hairy. I promise action and I will deliver. I SHALL NOT SAY ANOTHER WORD.**

**Thank you all for keeping up with this story. And WELCOME! to all my new followers! Hope everyone is enjoying! Please read and review! I love to hear from you all! It keeps me sane while I'm writing! Mucho love to all! -Laur**

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He envied how soundly she was able to sleep. Since he'd known her, he realized, she'd somehow managed to sleep deeply. As he stared at the ceiling, he recalled the time, well over a month ago now, that he'd stood in Dale's dinosaur of an RV prodding her with the butt end of a bolt for well over a minute or two before he had to whack her with it. Only then had she slammed into consciousness. Of course, she'd imbibed a good amount of alcohol the night before that. That would have caused anyone to sleep that heavily. But he'd stumbled upon her sleeping form a few times after that, and she'd slept the same. Completely gone, off somewhere in her unconscious mind.

Once he'd even jostled a stack of dishes that had been set in the sink while she was asleep in in the passenger seat…Nothing. She'd never even flinched. He smirked at the memory as he absently picked at the now almost completely healed scabs on his knuckles.

He didn't know how she was able to shut her mind off so quickly and fully. His own mind constantly worked, it seemed. Worked on nothing. He felt like his head was a set of wheels burning out underneath a torqued up beast of a car sometimes. As he lay with his head now turned to face her exposed, porcelain back, he wondered if this was how Rick's mind slowly started to come apart. It must have been. You only fail to sleep when your mind was too active, and his was just about running a marathon.

Thoughts, heavy with a state of shame, of Rick had been the original reason he hadn't passed out like she had immediately after their union. Not exactly what you wanted to float through your mind after sex, but the fact that he'd come up here and just did what he'd done while Rick was downstairs, weak as a newborn fawn...The fact that he was able to, like everything was fine…It just didn't sit right with him for some reason.

He drew the back of his hand up to her smooth skin and ran it lightly from her shoulder to the divots just above her ass which was draped with the sleeping bag. Light from the waning moon that was just barely beginning to push through the rain clouds was pooling on her through the portal overhead, and it allowed him to see a thin, very faint streak of blood his cracked knuckle had left on her derma. He huffed at the tarnish, turned onto his side to face her, and licked his thumb, wiping it gently away.

He settled his hand on her hip and tried to pacify his mind's ceaseless chatter with the contact. It did nothing to dampen it. In fact, as he laid his hand on her warm skin again, he was reminded of her admitted run in mere hours ago. It reminded him of what could have happened and that he was lucky she'd made it back in one piece. She could have died out there yesterday, alone in the woods had Carol not been out there.

For fuck's sake, it was _CAROL_. Carol had saved her ass from being torn to shreds. Maybe that's what was bothering him so much about it. It was only two geeks, and Carol was even able to handle herself against them. He knew she'd been correct in saying it just as well could have been him bent over a kill, completely engrossed when the fuckers staggered up from behind. He'd not heard that hog he'd been tracking as it came up behind him all those years ago...

There was no consolation to be had in the thought, though. It still had been her today, not him. It should have been him. He flexed the muscles in his leg a bit. The one the hog had ripped up with its razor sharp tusks. The injury still got stiff sometimes. Had she have been bitten, she wouldn't have gained a scar, though. Only lost her life. He rubbed his hand down his tired, worried face and settled onto his back again.

"Ya gunna go to sleep anytime soon?" she growled into the pillow, clearly annoyed that he was up and shifting his weight around next to her restlessly. He drew in a deep breath, pissed with himself for waking her. He sat up then, stretching his eyelids and as far open as they could go and then blinking to chase the tired feeling from them. He pulled himself from the bed, joints popping, and made his way over to a folded pile of clothes that had been left out on the old office's desk.

"Where ya going?" she croaked after him as she flipped herself onto her belly, following him with her sleepy eyes. He pulled a dry pair of jeans out of the pile and stepped into them, turning back to her a bit.

"No sense in me keepin' both'a us up." He explained softly. She grunted in agreement and buried her face back into the tangle of blankets and pillows. He smiled slightly to himself, thankful that the woman was willing to leave him to his own mind once in a while. He snagged a clean long sleeve shirt and some socks from the pile, backed to the bed to sit, and finished dressing. When he was suited up, he bent to retrieve the still soaked clothes he'd discarded to the floor earlier, along with his denim jacket from the back of the chair. He pulled his leather vest on over himself, picked up his crossbow, and made his way to the door. As he reached for the doorknob she shifted on the mattress again.

"Eat breakfast before ya leave…" she grumbled again. He paused his movements and smirked at his feet again.

"What I tell you 'bout naggin' me, girl?"

"Ya didn't _tell_ me much of anything, but ya keep lecturing me and ya gunna have to go back to Maggie for more condoms pretty soon." She warned in an affectionate, raspy voice. He snorted.

"Git yer ass back'ta sleep." His whisper was gravely and low as he opened and shut the door behind him. He walked across the hallway to the door that lead outside to the fenced area where the generator and huge fuel supply tank was located to turn it back on for the day.

It was chilly and damp. Chilly and damp didn't cover it, actually. It was almost frigid, he thought to himself as he tucked his free hand underneath his armpit to shield it from the cold. The cool rain that had fallen all day and night, along with the elevation, was making for a dramatic shift in the temperature. He knew by experience that winter tended to come early to the region, and by the feel of it, it have been on its way earlier than usual this year. Just what they needed. He hoped he was wrong and that this morning's temperature drop was just a fluke for now.

He stooped next to the generator, feeling blindly for the switch that would bring life to the machine in the dark that still blanketed everything. When he found it, he beat a hasty retreat back into the warmth of the hallway, locking the door behind him.

He crossed into the stairwell and down to the living area. The open space was dark for the most part except from the dancing exchange of light and shadow that illuminated and darkened the room in turns. He could hear a very faint snoring coming from the couch just in front of him and to his left. He leaned over it and saw Rick and Lori's young son, Carl, slumped with his head resting on the arm of the couch, one leg pulled up onto the cushion. Carl shifted on the couch as Daryl stood there, pulling his body tight to itself, trying to keep warm. Daryl worried at his lower lip with his teeth for a bit as he watched the kid sleeping in the cool basement-level room. He moved to the couch and set the lump of soaked clothing down on the back of it, and grabbed up a thin fleece blanket that had been folded and left on the opposite arm. He opened it partially and flung it over the sleeping boy, like he was tossing a net over a vicious animal, hoping it would help to keep the kid from feeling cold as he slept.

His keen ears picked up a rustling sound and the unmistakable creak of a door at his back. He whirled around to see Carol as she pulled the door to her and Beth's room closed. She brought a hand up to her mouth in an insincere attempt to hide the small smile that pulled at the corners of her mouth. He'd been caught red-handed. _Goddammit._

She raised her other hand to him to assuage his ruffled plumage and he deflated a bit. She moved without sound, shuffling behind him on the carpet in her socks over to the kitchen to pour herself some water from the tap and he scooped his balled clothes up again, walking off down the hall to the laundry area. Upon stepping in and flicking the light on, he was struck by the sudden realization that he didn't know the first thing about how to get the machine in front of him to dry his jacket out. Not willing to be bested by a machine, though, he yanked the door of the dryer open and removed his belt and sheath that held his buck knife from the pants his and tossed the lump of cold, tangled denim into the drum and then pushed the door shut.

_High Heat. Low Heat. Air Fluff. Permanent Press. Regular. _

_10 minutes. 40 minutes. 70 minutes._

What the hell happened to _ON _and _OFF_? Why were those not options? He decided that _Regular _was the least intimidating option and turned the dial to that setting, and twisted the second dial to 40 minutes. The sun would be coming up around about then, he surmised, and he wanted to get a move on, itching to step out into the wilderness for the first time in a week. The dryer wouldn't go on, though.

He turned the dials again, moving them back to the proper settings that he'd chosen, but again it didn't come on. He glared at the obstinate machine.

_The fuck?_

A light hand to his shoulder gently guided him to the side and he watched as Carol pulled and pushed the knobs and buttons. She then leaned over and dug into the washing machine, pulling armfuls of wet clothing out of it and loading it into the dryer as well. She pressed a button then and finally got the dryer to hum to life, the sound of the metal buttons scraping and bouncing off the inside.

"Ain't never used one." He shrugged turning the sheathed knife over in his hands.

"I can tell," she smiled, turning from the room and flipping the light off, "You almost had it, though. You had to pull the dial up after setting it."

He stood in the dark for a second after she left before moving back out into the hallway, threading his belt and knife on as he walked. He came to stand in the kitchen as he did up the buckle of his belt.

"Coffee?" she asked, keeping her voice low so as to not wake Carl. He nodded affirmatively, folding his bulky arms over his chest and backing up to rest against the fridge to her right. He watched her work for a few minutes, the want and need to say something to her pushing at him. How was he to express his gratitude to her for what she'd done? He began mulling over what he wanted to say in his head.

She looked at him sideways, as she pushed the mug of coffee into his hands and he knew she could tell something was up. He kept his eyes glued to the coffee mug in his hands, staring at it like it was about to bite him.

"We don't have any sugar, if that's what you were wondering." She chuckled quietly as she poured herself a cup of her own and turned to him. His eyebrows flew to his hairline and he opened his mouth to suck in a breath, shaking his daze and the question she'd asked away lazily.

"Thanks…Thank you." He mumbled after clearing his throat. She took a sip from her mug and turned to another cabinet, pulling it open to see what kind of food she could start preparing for the group's morning meal. She looked back over to him again narrowing her eyes just a bit and smirked. He became acutely aware that she she'd never heard those words come from his mouth before, and it made what he wanted to say all the more difficult. Not because saying it would be hard, but because he now knew he suddenly had so much more to thank her for. Months and months of gratitude for all the little things she'd done for him snowballed to the act of selflessness she'd carried out so bravely the day before, making the words of appreciation heavy in his throat as he tried to push them out.

"You know I ain't talkin' 'bout no damn coffee." He mumbled again, much harsher than he'd meant it to come out. He sighed and fixed her with a weak, apologetic look and her brow furrowed in confusion.

"Yesterday…She tol' me," he began, eyes going back to the black liquid in his cup, "…She tol' me what you did…If you hadd'na been there, Carol…"

An unfamiliar weight settled to his chest as his quiet words tapered off and his larynx drew tight in his throat. He swallowed thickly as he watched her shake her head, wondering why she still wasn't getting it.

"Daryl, you don't need to thank me for that. Anyone else would have done the same th-"

"I tried," He interrupted suddenly, voice so much smaller and softer than usual, "I couldn't do the same fer you. When we lost Sophia…I tried, but I wasn't good enough to bring her back to you. An' there you go…Scared as I know you are, puttin' yerself at risk when I couldn't bring her back like I promised. "

"Daryl," she said, voice firm but shaky in the wake of the turn the conversation had suddenly taken, "You did what you could for her. More than anyone else. Don't you dare beat yourself up over my little girl's death. That was not your fault, or anyone else's…Do you hear me?"

She'd never sounded like that before. Never as sure or as adamant or as…_Angry_. She sounded like a mother. A damn good one. The kind of mother that could pull honesty from a lying tongue or make the word "because" the only reason needed. He swallowed again and nodded silently, knowing now that he'd said the wrong thing. She wiped at the bit of wetness that was threatening to spill from her eye and put her coffee down so she could properly continue her disciplinary speech.

"The last thing you need to be doing is lugging that burden around…Especially when it isn't yours to carry. And after all this time!...I know you tried, Daryl…You tried and you gave me hope when I didn't have any…_I'm _grateful. And I always will be…And yesterday? I was there and I did what I could. Just like anybody. Just like you did."

He nodded again, not knowing what else to do or say. He felt like a child. He couldn't even thank someone properly without letting slip something wrong or inappropriate. He rubbed at the back of his head and cast his eyes back to the floor.

He felt her small hand encircle his wrist and he looked back up to her, wanting to jerk away but failing. He brought his eyes back up to Carol's and in them he read the volumes of what she was conveying with just that one look. She looked _proud._ Proud and strong. The inner strength he knew in the back of his head that she'd always possessed was pouring through her pale blue eyes. It was the same strength she'd displayed that day at the quarry back in Atlanta as she'd brought the sharp end of his pick axe down on Ed's skull.

She squeezed his wrist before letting it drop and the reassurance in the gesture was not wasted or lost on him. He needed it and she knew it. Carol, for some reason, was able to read him better than anyone he'd ever known. Even better than Pru, and at times it freaked him the fuck out. But right now he felt himself accepting it. His lips tugged, ever so slightly and he felt the culpability that he'd carried since Sophia's death fade into the background.

She gently shooed him out of the way and pulled the door to the refrigerator ajar, fishing around inside of it for some leftover venison and cranberry sauce from the night before. He stepped aside, allowing her room to work, hoisted himself up onto the counter that separated the kitchen area from the rest of the living space and sipped quietly at the hot liquid caffeine. After a few moments of sitting and waiting as she warmed the food back up, he cleared his throat quietly and spoke again.

"So you any good with this gun you been runnin' 'round with?" he questioned. She scoffed as she prodded to food in the pan with a spatula, back still turned to him.

"I don't know…I can hit what I point it at now. I haven't had a chance to…Walkers." She shrugged.

"Feel like you could?"

She turned away from the hot pan on the stove and folded her arms across her chest, shrugging again. The confidence she'd displayed to him just a moment ago had eclipsed back into her again. He gulped down the last bit of coffee and shoved off the counter moving to pour himself another cup.

"She can help you…With movin' targets, I mean." He offered to her as the coffee sloshed into the mug in his hand. She looked over to her left at him, eyebrow cocked.

"And how is she going to feel about her beau volunteering her for something she doesn't know about?"

It was his turn to cock an eyebrow at her. _Beau? _

"That's what you are to her, aren't you?" she asked, smirking, able to read his expression like an open book. He narrowed his eyes at her and chewed at his cheek. He hadn't really given any thought to the idea of what they were to each other. Goddamn people and their need to categorize and label absolutely everything. She'd caught him off guard with the word, but after rolling it over in his mind a few times, he decided it fit. He side-stepped answering the unexpected question and looped back around to the first, smiling inwardly.

"She ain't gunna care. 'Specially if it means you'll be able to protect yerself an' the group…I'd do it m'self, but girl's better with a handgun than me." He admitted. Her eyes went wide at his confession.

"…An' don't you go tellin' her ass I said that, neither. I'll never hear the fuckin' end'a it." He warned gruffly, earning a bit of a chuckle from her.


	30. Chapter 29

**So I lied. You kids are getting a third-that's right!- a THIRD Daryl chapter after this because...It's just too good this way. Try not to be too mad at me ;)**

**I'm really proud of this chapter and a feel like you guys will enjoy it. I stopped it where I did because it was right. BUT OMG I CANNOT WAIT TO POST THE NEXT ONE HOLY CRAP, UGUIZE.**

**I have some people to personally thank, so hang on a second...**

**LittleNikki: You, my dear, are the only one who expressed interest in my little playlist dealie, so...YOU WIN?...Or lose. I have yet to figure it out. But yes! It's going to take me some time to find a few other songs to round everything out, so I promise, IT'S COMING!**

**Emberka-2012: You may be my most faithful reader/reviewer. I just wanted to take some time out and show you some love.**

**SimpleWickedWriter: I got your review notification as I was editing this and was *too* stoked. I'm so happy you're enjoying, and honestly, I feel way more comfortable about the last chapter now that you said what you did. I was kind of second guessing the chapter and how it fit into the story for some reason. I was really happy with it, at first, and then...Not so much. You reviewing it, as much as I admire your writing, gave me a boost! So thank youuuuuu! And LOL "PRUYL". And yes, that made perfect sense.**

**Okay, now...Back to the next chapter. OH BOY, UGUIZE. OH BOY. I'm writing it now and I am so ready to get it done with so I can read it over and then let you guys have at it.**

**Love too all the Oldheads and the Noobz, alike. LET ME HEAR YOUR GUNS!**

**Disclaimer(Because I haven't slipped on in here in a while): JUST IN CASE YOU PEOPLE AT AMC/ANYONE AFFILIATED WITH THE SHOW FORGOT...I'M NOT TRYING TO BOOST YOUR SWAG, K? STEP OFF. I KNOW IT AIN'T MINE.**

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"I used to work jus' up the road here a bit…A little 'fore where we're goin'."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"You never told me what you did before all this shit happened." She breezed as she checked the mag in one of her guns for the umpteenth time since they'd hopped in the pickup.

He flexed his hands, tightening his grip on the wheel and gear shift. He was trying to talk her down out of the nervous state she was in with small talk, but it wasn't working. And now her fidgeting was starting to make him nervous, too. It was frustrating. He knew there wasn't a damn thing to be shaken about.

"Knock it off. You ain't fired that thing since we been in the car. Still fifteen rounds in each by my count." He demanded, eyes flicking from the road to her. She slammed the mag back into the gun, tossing it onto the dash melodramatically and propped her booted foot up next to it. He shook his head and shifted his eyes back to the road before checking his rearview. Glenn, Maggie, Rick, and Carol were still following behind them in the Suburban. They'd been on the road for about twenty minutes now. They'd taken the two largest vehicles on their run so they'd have optimal room for supplies. He brought his eyes back to the road and drummed his fingers on the stick.

"Did welding…Mig and Tig…For a fencing company…Before that, a meat processing plant." He finally said plainly. She draped her arm over knee and let her head fall back against the seat. She was clearly irritated.

"Yeah? And how was that?" she asked, not really caring. He narrowed his eyes at her words as a thought moved through his mind.

_That's the problem with this bullshit. You know when yer __**bullshittin'**__ each other._

"…Yanno. If I'da known you'd be this damn spooked, I'da left your ass back with 'eryone else." He sniped.

"Spooked? Who's spooked?...I'm not spooked, Daryl. I'm fucking _anxious. _We've been up there for like…What? Three weeks? Four?…_'Settling in'_," she said as she rolled her eyes, her words and movements meant as a caricature or Rick.

She was right. It had been that long. They'd been at the Chattahoochee station for what had to have been a month already. After Rick's episode, they'd made him take it easy for about a week before he started to become impossible to keep off his feet for any longer. Everyone had stuck close during that time. After that, Rick was still reluctant to go out, citing that he wanted to wait until it was absolutely necessary to go on a run…A run that Daryl had been pushing for.

They still had a week's worth of fuel, and more than enough food to keep them going through the winter, though the point had been made that 'enough' never was enough. Not really. And other things needed collecting. They needed to keep their ammunition stocked now that more people were practicing with guns and carrying. They were in desperate need of personal items and toiletries. Poor Lori was now becoming visibly pregnant, and was walking around with the fly of her pants open to accommodate her growing belly. She also needed things like vitamins and food items that didn't make her queasy.

Most of all, though, they just needed something to occupy their time with. The run would provide them with that, physically, and on their hunt he'd decided to bring things like creature comforts back with them. Booze, books, and a deck of playing cards were at the top of _his_ list. Pru had suggested grabbing up a few board games for Carl and Beth. He and T-Dog had talked about picking up a carton of smokes and splitting it. Carol wanted cookbooks. Maggie and Beth, nail polish...Things that were stupid and fucking unnecessary, but would occupy their minds during the long, cold winter months and keep them all from going stir-crazy.

Finally, he'd worn Rick down, and not a moment too soon. He'd been on edge for a few days now, but Pru…No amount of sex or hunting was going to ease her caged body and mind, apparently. Pru was about ready to snap. And because of her tendency to be in close proximity to him, he'd be the one that ended up taking the brunt of her blow-up if it got to that point. So he'd pushed Rick harder, because there was no way he was going to walk right into_ that _hornet's nest. Not with this woman.

His eyes slid to her again and then back up to the rearview. The others in the truck behind them had a clear view of the back of their heads. He could count on one hand how many times he'd kissed or even touched her in the presence of someone else over the last few weeks, and even then it was only ever a quick peck, a hand to her lowed back, or a guiding hand around her wrist. It wasn't like they were actively trying to keep it quiet anymore, but he wasn't one public displays. Ever. But…

_Fuck it._

He reached over and wrapped his large hand around her thin arm and tugged her to him. A bump in the road jostled her into his side. She eyed him with a dirty look as he threw an arm around her shoulders, but rested her head against his chest anyway.

"Almost there." He said quietly into her wild hair, and he slowly felt the tension drain from her body the way an animal, long stray, might do as it began to recognize a friendly touch. They sat and let the truck rock them silently as he sped down the empty pike. He looked down at her and ran his hand over the thick coat that was covering her arm and up to the hair that was starting to grow back at her temple.

"You know what half this shit we're 'sposed to be getting' is?" he asked her. She scoffed, lifting her head to look into his eyes and scrunched her nose up at him.

"Ya think just because I have a cunt that I know what all that pregnancy bullshit is?"

"I ain't said that," He said as he shook his head at her question, keeping his eyes to the road ahead but fighting as hard as he could to stifle a laugh by chewing at his lip, "…_Cunt._ Man, you got a foul mouth on you!"

He palmed her head and shoved her away from him playfully and she returned the abuse with a quick jab to his bicep.

"I'm drivin', asshole!"

"Daryl Dixon!" she crowed, smiling widely now, "Did I just offend ya delicate sensibilities?"

"There's some shit even _I _won't say," he chuckled as he shook his head, "An' that's one'a 'em. That word got me kicked in the balls so bad when I was fourteen; I was pukin' for an hour…Never again."

"Never again." She scoffed as she settled back into her own seat, smiling out the window. They were quiet for a second as they passed a large building to their right.

"There." He said pointing as the car flew by the warehouse. Her eyes followed his finger a bit late.

"There, what?" she asked looking around.

"Used to work there…Back there." He mumbled setting his hand to the back of the seat. She squinted him, mouth agape in confusion.

"Ya're the absolute worst tour guide ever." She laughed, dismissing him with a waving hand.

A few quiet moments later they saw where they were headed. It was an old, trashy looking shopping plaza with a Kmart and a Sears, among other things. They weren't really interested in anything but the two department stores and the countless cars abandoned out front. Daryl had come out by himself the day before to scout the area. He was familiar with the geography and the location of the stores, but he hadn't been by here since things had started going down the tubes.

After surveying the area, he determined that the number of walkers milling around the place wasn't something they couldn't handle if they kept their ranks tight and eyes peeled. After consulting with Glenn, their resident strategist, they'd come up with a plan to get the tanks filled and to get them in and out of the stores quickly.

The key element of their brainchild was diversion. They'd park up the road and allow Maggie to man the much larger Suburban, driving it into the parking lot. She was to lean on the horn, rev the engine, and roll down the windows and blare a tape through the radio to grab the attention of the staggering bodies that traipsed around the lot. After she had the herd good and distracted, she was to lead them out of the lot, across the highway, and behind a long length of strip mall so they couldn't see the other truck's approach. When behind the building, she said she'd throw the behemoth in reverse to kill, or at least maim as many as possible, slowing them down so they couldn't follow her back to the other stores.

Meanwhile, the rest of them would start assembly-line-siphoning from the cars and trucks in the abandoned parking lot. Fill a can, run it to Carol, who would be in the pickup's bed. She'd hand them a new one and funnel it into the drums. The final step in the first part of the plan was for Maggie to make her way back to the scavengers to help pick over the cars before they went into the stores.

After they got into the stores, all bets were off. The shadowy depths of the retail spaces may as well have been the Mariana Trench. It was complete unknown just waiting to swallow them up. Get in through the loading docks out back, stick with your partner, get the shit on lists in order of importance, and then get back and load the truck. Above all, stay quiet and stay safe. That was the plan. It was solid, it was clear, but they dared not say it would be easy despite having gone over it a dozen times. They could do this, though.

_We'll be fine._

He slowed to a stop just next to where the trees ended on the edge of the highway and the vast expanse of blacktop dedicated to consumerism. Pru handed him a pair of binoculars from the floor. He heard Rick climb into the bed of the truck, and he brought them to his eyes, and Carol opened the door and climbed, crowbar in hand, as scanned the lot for anything unsuspected.

"We're all good. Glenn better hurry his yellow ass up." He muttered feigning annoyance. He knew the other man was worried. He got it. Not only did he get it, though, he empathized. If it were Pru running off on her own to do something like this, his stomach would be in knots, too.

He felt the weight of the truck shift as the straggler pull himself into the bed next to Rick. His presence was confirmed when they heard him let out a heavy sigh through the open window just behind their heads. Maggie slowly pulled ahead of the pickup, and Daryl went to nod at her, but found that her eyes were fixed on the task ahead of her.

They all watched as she coasted the huge vehicle into the parking lot silently. They'd been on a bit of a hill and apparently, Maggie had used her sharp mind to figure that a neutral engine was better to sneak up on the walkers with. Once she was in the lot, she'd stopped the truck and even from that distance, they could hear the first few loud notes of the song as the piano music began clanging out of the cranked speakers. Elton John's _Crocodile Rock_. They'd found the tape in one of the office drawers back at the station.

They watched as the dead began shuffling towards the car.

"Man, I've always hated that song." He heard Glenn groan miserably through the window, pure anguish and fear washing out the other emotions he was trying to cover with. Carol's hand shot through the window out to Glenn, and he watched as she took his hand in her own and squeezed; that sweet reassuring gesture that she was so oft to make.

They lurked closer to the SUV and she began leaning on the horn. A few seconds more and they would be too close. He brought the binoculars back to his eyes, frowning.

"C'mon, girl. Git them windows up." He said out loud to himself.

"What's she doing?" Pru asked. He shushed her and pushed at the hand that had come to his shoulder in askance. The walkers' rotting hands were on the hood of the car now. There were at least fifty of them. The truck jostled a bit as Glenn shot to his feet in the bed.

"C'MON!" Daryl shouted. Then as if she'd heard him, she'd thrown the truck in reverse, made a quick K-turn, and started peeling out, sending thick clouds of rubber smoke into the air. Slowly, she began leading them out of the lot and up the road to the entrance of the other lot. They waited until they were far enough away for them to make their move.

As Maggie disappeared around the side of a building, Daryl threw the truck into gear and whipped into the parking lot, bringing it to a halt in the thick of the abandoned cars. The women went to fly out of the car and he grabbed Pru's arm.

"Wait!" he said angrily as he motioned to the gun she'd left on the dash. She grabbed it up and stowed it back in its holster before pushing out behind Carol. Glenn and Rick were already out of the truck with a length of hose and a gas can each as Carol was pulling herself in. He pulled two more lengths of hose and a few gas cans out for him and Pru and followed her quickly to a few cars. A few moments later, they could hear the Suburban's huge engine as it pulled into the parking lot. Maggie jumped out of the blood and gut smeared transport and ran to a few of the cars and began rummaging through them.

Their plan was working pretty well. He assumed they'd already managed to get half a drum of gas collected, and they'd only had to stop to pick off a handful of strays. Carol even had three kills to her credit. She'd been watching their backs as they siphoned and quickly chased the bastards down with her iron pry, preventing a few pretty bad situations from happening.

Fifteen minutes later, they were running out of room in the drums, and they were finding that the cars they had to check now were getting kind of far out. Rick called a halt to the operation at that, and got everyone into the trucks so they could drive around back and make their way inside. When Maggie and Daryl backed the vehicles up to the loading docks there had been a few straggling corpses milling around. It looked like one had managed to get its hands on a stray dog or a small deer from where they were, and they were feasting on it. Rick hopped from the back of the pickup along with Pru and took care of anything that got too close.

Daryl threw himself from the truck and dug into the bed for his trusty crossbow and a pair of bolt cutters. He forced the tool into Carol's waiting arms as Maggie and Glenn went to help Rick and Pru clear the area of dead. The team of four made quick work of the ten or so walkers, and hurried up the ramp, grabbing large duffels and suitcases from the trucks as they went. Daryl was just stepping through the open door, scouring the warehouse for any threats, and Rick and Pru moved to cover him while Maggie, Glenn, and Carol kept an eye to the outside.

"Clear! Move!" Daryl hissed over his shoulder as he grabbed one of the larger bags from his girl, watching as the rolling door was brought down behind them and latched shut by Maggie. Flashlights were flicked on.

"We all know what we need? One round, everybody. Grab what you can and get out." Rick whispered, ushering Carol along to the swinging doors that separated the warehouse from the retail floor. The group affirmed their readiness as one, as they pressed close to the door. Daryl watched as Pru took one of her guns out and handed it off to Glenn. He was about to protest, but she cut him off.

"Take it. Me and him don't need all the shit we have, especially if we're going for ammo." She said motioning to Daryl with a jerk of her head, "Neither of ya have a gun that isn't loud as hell on ya. Fucking take it."

The young man nodded and stashed his machete in its sheath in favor of the firearm.

"We go right? Ya'll go left, and Rick and Carol go up the middle?" Maggie asked Daryl as she peered through the filthy windows on the plastic doors.

"S'what I said." Daryl confirmed in his low, surly way. Maggie nodded back to him, giving the okay that she didn't currently see anything.

"Go." He whispered, as he pushed quietly through the doors. Everyone followed, packed together like sardines in a can for the first few feet. The air in the open store was musty and held the well dispersed smell of rot. It was not fresh death that tickled their gag reflexes. It was months and months old now, from around the start, preserved in a mausoleum that looked a hell of a lot like a department store. If there was anything…dead-ish in here, it had been in here since the beginning, he figured as he treaded forward.

He felt Rick's shoulder leave his, and felt Glenn's back pull away from him as well. That was his cue to begin following the back wall to the sporting goods and food sections. Maggie and Glenn were on medical supplies and personal care items, while Rick and Carol were headed to find clothes, baby crap, and miscellaneous things like bedding, batteries, and anything else they could think of. He kept his bow trained forward, while she swept the aisles to their right. Every one or another would have a slumped figure or two in it. Most of which were all dead. Real dead, not undead. She'd popped off a silent round at two that had stirred upon seeing their movements and the bobbing of the flashlight, but as far as they'd gone, they'd not run into any real surprises.

Seven aisles later, they were at the sporting goods section. It was just about picked clean, honestly. He felt glass from the counter crunching beneath his boots and he ran the beam along the smashed glass and saw a case of shot gun shells still sitting where it'd been stocked. Pru saw it and moved forward to grab it, sliding her body stealthily along it as she stood up and back behind it. She made tiny a happy noise and stooped down to pick something off the floor. She flashed it at him. A box of carbon bolts. He nodded and held the bag out to her with one hand so she could toss them in.

On a high shelf, he saw a few more boxes of bullets that were set out of reach from the panicked masses when they'd rolled though, looting everything in sight. He nudged her with his elbow and she looked up, to where his eyes had carried and huffed when she saw what he was looking at. She knew what he wanted. She holstered her gun, dropped the backpack she was carrying, and put her little flashlight between her teeth, hoisting herself cautiously onto what was left of the counter. After stuffing her prize into the neck of her coat, she'd hopped down. They'd just gained one-hundred fifty more rounds.

"Ya see anything else?" she asked, pushing the boxes into the bag slung off his shoulder. He shook his head.

"Aside from them knives…" he said grabbing at two bowie knives that had fallen to the floor, "Should look for sleeping bags…Then the food."

They made their way around the area quickly. They'd grabbed up two new sleeping bags, a small frying pan, a hatchet, a few pairs of extra thick socks, and a wool lined, mossy-oak beanie hat that had been in a small clearance bin, no doubt left over from last winter.

"Oh man!" she said excitedly, "Happy birthday." He mistook it for her being startled and spun around. She reached deeper into the bin full of markdowns and pulled out a book, holding it up. His eyes strained to read the title as she brandished it.

_Canning, Curing, & Smoking Game_

"Nice." He smiled, taking it and stuffing it into the bag that was now on her back and zipping it up one handed. She walked ahead of him as they swept deeper into the store, blindly leading the way through toppled shelves, skewed displays, and gore. They reached their destination after having to take the long way around it. A couple of fallen shelves and a forklift that had careened into them blocked the direct path. The still corpse at the helm was slumped onto the wheel and he sneered at it was he passed.

They headed down an aisle that would normally have been full of dried cereals and bread. He could smell the acrid scent of the blue-green mold that grew on the rotting bread all around them. He wiped at his nose with his elbow, failing to chase away the imagined feeling of the spores floating up into his sinuses. He heard her indiscriminately grabbing things off the shelves and shoving them into her backpack. He looked over and saw a few bags of dried apricots and raisins, pulled them down, and shoved them into her bag as well before beginning to fill his own, larger bag.

Soups. Pasta. Coffee. Nuts. Potted meats. Canned vegetables. Cleaning products. A tub of shortening. Crackers. Beef jerky. Toilet paper. Chips and dip. Gravies and sauces. Beans. Cookies. Garbage bags.

Anything they saw that wasn't opened or splattered with blood was shoved into either one of the bags. There was a good amount of stuff left. The out of the way location of the town the store was settled in had kept the small population from really making it out here to pick over anything before things got too chaotic. By the time they were ready to go, the bag was too heavy for him to carry alone. It hung from their hands at knee height as he led her around the rows of unwanted goods, and back out to the double swinging doors.

One of the doors popped open and he flew backwards, alarmed at the sudden movement. Glenn and Maggie were already back there and reaching to help pull the huge, over-stuffed bag into the loading area.

"You two lookin' to get shot, or what?" he berated.

"A thanks would be nice, man. That's the last time I shoot a walker to get you a pair of boots." Glenn laughed amicably as he dragged the back backwards.

"They're not back yet?" Pru asked, trying to catch her breath. He watched Maggie shake her head.

"They had to go to the far corner of the store, remember? They should be back any minuet, though." She replied.

Just then, they heard bedlam erupt out past the doors inside the store. Everyone steadied and drew their weapons, readying themselves for who or whatever was about to plow through the door. A few seconds later, Carol burst through followed closely by an alarmed looking Rick.

"Go! Go! Go!" he urged, gun trained behind him as he backed in. Daryl physically stopped Carol from running face-first into the aluminum door with his chest. She bounced off him and flailed frantically as Rick tossed a set of stacked palates to the floor behind him.

"OPEN THE DOOR!" She yelped. She didn't need to tell Glenn twice. He flipped the latch in the bottom of the door with his foot and grabbed for the chain that hung from the ceiling above them, hoisting the door up, over their heads, allowing them access to the outdoors.

Maggie gave a sharp scream then as she came face-to-face with one of about eight more walkers. They were basically surrounded, front and back, Daryl realized. More than a half dozen blocking their getaway, and who the hell knew how many were about to blunder in from the store. He aimed and fired once at the closest one to him, as it barreled in over the fallen wood. He then let the crossbow fall to his back knowing there'd be no time to reload, and reached for a claw hammer Pru had stashed in her belt loop at her hip. He yanked it out, drawing his knife with the other hand and immediately started an attempt at holding them off with Glenn at his side. He felt a cool, gooey liquid splatter against the back of his neck as Carol drew back, lining up another whack with her crowbar. He winced at the feeling, knowing exactly what it was, but opted to live and fight over hesitating and ending up dead.

Pru was now at his back, and he could feel the gun in her hands recoiling, shaking her frame slightly with every shot she fired. Suddenly she was gone from his back, and right next to him.

"BAGS!" she yelled at him as she squeezed the trigger twice more, dropping two that were getting close. Apparently she'd cleared the road for them. He stopped his assault and shoved the knife back into its home, grabbing one of the heavy bags and tore it over the body cluttered threshold, flinging it into the back of the waiting Suburban behind Maggie and Carol. Rick and Glenn were heaving the others in beside him, and before he knew it, Maggie was over the seats and starting the truck up.

"So much for Sears." He said dryly, as he shoved Rick forward towards the passenger door as he closed Glenn and Carol in the back, and spun around, skull-splinter flecked hammer still in his grip. He heard Maggie haul ass down and off the dock.

"GODDAMMIT, PRU, MOVE!" He yelled as he yanked her by the waist. The crazy bitch was still behind him dropping them. There were too many of them, absolutely no sense in trying to hold them off anymore, and she was about to run out of rounds. They had a clear path to leave and everyone else was already half way out the parking lot. He shoved her towards the truck as well and hopped in just as he heard a couple hands landing on the tailgate.

"GO!" she screeched as she ducked in. He turned the key, the engine roared to life, and he jammed down on the clutch to put it into gear. The pickup lurched into drive and they cut out of there at a pace that seemed far too slow. He watched as the floundering geeks grew smaller and smaller in the mirror.

A few seconds later, they were blazing down the road, catching up with the Suburban and he realized she was still staring wide-eyed ahead of them, his right forearm in her death grip. He shook his arm a bit in an attempt to stir her from her stupor. She slowly moved her head to look upon him, and her face was a bit paler than normal, flecks of blood and brain splashed over her features and stuck in her hair.

"You in one piece?" he asked, voicing his concern with his eyes as well. She blinked. Then she did it again. She opened and closed her heavily lashed eyelids a few times at him, but didn't say a word.

"WELL?"

Her wide pools flickered first, giving away the fact that she was completely fine, but for a second, she still didn't make a sound. Then, slowly, her lips tilted up into a frenzied smile and she began to giggle. The giggle turned quickly turned into a full on belly laugh.

"You lost your mind? The fuck is so funny?" he growled, moving his eyes between her and the road again. She answered with volume, not with words, and slammed her small, balled up fist into the side of the door excitedly a few times to emphasize how absolutely hysterical she found…something.

"What?...What?" His concern was giving way to his own laughter. She pushed at him jocosely and let out a howl of laughter that towed the volume of his own adrenaline fueled regalement up through the depths of his body. They were riding the bumper of the Suburban by then, so he veered to the left, swooping around to the driver's side of the other vehicle. Pru, still laughing uproariously, began rolling down the window and climbed through it, resting her rear on the door as they pulled next to the other car.

The four other members slowly looked over as she hooted and hollered, riding the icy wind as it swept over the truck. He craned his neck to peer past her flailing, lighthearted form and looked at the four faces staring back at the both of them as they were in stitches. Carol looked a cross between aghast and stern. Over her shoulder, Glenn's look of utter distaste and confused reluctance made him look like he was about to vomit all over her back, and it made Daryl laugh even harder. When Maggie caught sight of the both of them caterwauling happily, her face contorted into an angry snarl, and she was letting lose a silent tirade that was drowned out by her closed window, both humming engines, and the laughter.

At least Rick got it. He was looking over Maggie's shoulder smiling and shaking his head as Pru flashed her middle finger over to them. Daryl pushed the accelerator all the way to the floorboards of the truck and they zipped ahead of the larger vehicle and pulled in front of it. His laughter was subsiding finally, and he allowed himself to watch her as she hung precariously through the down window. She looked positively radiant against the bleakness of the autumn sky that the truck sailed beneath and framed her form.

Twenty minutes' drive back up the route and they were turning onto the rugged dirt road that lead them to their hideout. Five after that, they were a good ways up the road. Her feet were now in his lap as she rested her back against the door. She hadn't wiped that fiendish grin off her face yet, and every so often, he'd allow himself a glance over at her to return it. He was exhilarated by her. When they made their return to camp, he had every intention of telling everyone else to fuck off, tossing her over his shoulder, dragging her to their room, and locking the door for the evening.

He'd never been the kind of person to celebrate, but if he couldn't do it now, when would he? He felt good in the wake of their successful supply run, confidence bolstered by her presence and buoyancy. He squeezed her leather encased ankle as it lay across his lap, a promise to her, as well as himself, of the moments they'd share when they returned. His eyes moved back to the path ahead of the rolling truck as he pulled his hand from her leg and placed it back on the stick.

Just then, a small shape in the road caught his eye. It was a few yards off and very small, but he knew he hadn't seen it before. Not on the way out. His ever-present scowl deepened as he tried to figure out what it was. The truck pulled to a stop beneath him as he became fairly certain of what it was. He sat still for a moment and just glared at it, before looking around at the trees in the surrounding area suspiciously.

"What?...What's wrong?" she asked him. He put the truck in park without a word.

"What?" she repeated.

"Shut up an' stay here." He ordered. She made a confused face that he didn't catch as he pulled his crossbow from the well at her feet and quietly opened the door, sliding from the cab. He looked back to Maggie and put a hand in the air broadcasting that she was to wait a second and he turned and stalked to the front of the truck. A few paces ahead of where they were parked, the item sat. It was small and metallic, and its shape confirmed what it was.

He crouched on his haunches to inspect it. The beer can had been crushed and discarded to the dirt. He drew it up to his nose and gave it a sniff as he heard a door behind him close. As Rick's solid footsteps fell closer to him, he felt his blood run cold at the familiar scent. He tipped the can and drained the last, tiny bit out; a liquid testimony he didn't need.

It was fresh. Only slightly skunked. And as far as he knew, they'd not had any beer up there at the ranger station at any time since they'd been there. He sucked in an uneasy breath as Rick came to his side.

"Genny Light?" Rick asked.

"It's fresh. An' it ain't mine." He said voice low and wary. Rick's brow flew to the skeletal branches of the trees above them and he rubbed a hand over his mouth.

"Just one?" he asked the skilled tracker, referring to the number of trespassers, not the quantity of cans. Daryl cast is eyes to the dirt. In the fading light of early dusk, it was hard to really make anything out. He ran his eyes along the trees that flanked the path and was suddenly struck by a strangling realization as his eyes fell to the tire tracks that backed up to the woods. He knew where they were.

"Shit!" he hissed as he took off into the naked trees.

"Daryl?" Rick called out after him, but his urgent questioning went unanswered.

A few yards beyond the trees Daryl skidded to a halt. He spun around, examining the area with his sharp eyes. This was the place. This was the fucking place, but where was it? His eyes scanned the soft, moist dirt and leafy humus that lay at his feet. Tread marks from the bike and foot prints headed back towards the road. _Large_ foot prints. A few pairs of them.

He cursed himself inwardly for not moving the bike sooner. For not pushing it further off the road, taking it back to camp, or taking a fucking tire iron to the damned thing like he wanted to. After the trees had completely shed their bright foliage a few days back, the bike's shiny chrome and slick, curved body had become visible from the road.

He bit back his panic as he suddenly realized something else. He spun around and ran back to the road, following the tracks in the dirt. Rick was at his side, hand to his shoulder as he watched the bike's treads disappear, and larger, thicker treads picked up a few feet ahead of it, and he realized he couldn't hear the other man's words over the pounding in his ears. The new set of tire tracks was headed north. North toward their people. Their home.


	31. Chapter 30

**I'm not going to spoil the surprise. I just hope I haven't talked this up so much that you're let down by it. I know I'm pretty happy with it, so I hope you guys enjoy. I know I'm excited about it.**

**Let me know what you think of the characterizations. I'm very interested in hearing feedback and taking suggestions.**

**Again, this is a Daryl POV chapter. I don't think anyone will complain, though.**

**OOOOOOOOOOO MAN, TOO STOKED.**

**K. Anyway.**

**Thank you for reading, following, and making this story one of your Favorites, to the ones who have. If you're new to this story, welcome aboard! I'd love to hear from you! Hope I don't disappoint!**

**Love to all!- Laur.**

**DISCLAIMER#1: Extra heavy language and content warning in this one. I mean, look who we're dealing with.**

**Disclaimer#2: I don't own.**

* * *

"Get Glenn out here." He said to Rick as he stared off in the direction the tracks led, sniffing at the smell of diesel that hung in the air. Rick didn't understand what was happening, yet, and Daryl knew it, but he had to keep calm, or at least try. He didn't want to get anyone panicking. Rick pulled himself away from Daryl slowly and stalked back to the Suburban, returning with Glenn seconds later.

"Seven men, it looks like. Maybe more. Two trucks." Daryl said in a low voice.

"What?" Glenn asked, looking around and then following his sage eyes up the road to where their camp sat by the lake.

"What do you mean,'_What_'? Get yer head right, man. We got a big pr'lem on our hands." He charged, turning to the younger man.

"…M-maybe they're not interested in a fight," Glenn suggested sheepishly, "Maybe they're just passing through."

Rick heaved a sigh, frustrated with Glenn's optimism and began pacing.

"Passin' through to where? This road dead ends at our place. An' YOU two got shot at last time, I didn't." Daryl reminded sharply, effectively smashing Glenn's half-full glass.

"We're wasting time!" Rick growled. Daryl turned to him, giving up on waiting for Glenn's strategy.

"We get the women in the Suburban. They pull off the road, up a ways an' either wait 'til we come get 'em, or…Midnight. We continue on foot…Scope the area an' doin's. Then we make our move."

"They're not gunna stay put." Glenn warned, glancing back over his shoulder, specifically at Pru, who was now climbing out of the pickup. Daryl turned at the sound the door made as it protested the movement, and as furious as he was that she hadn't heeded his order to remain in the truck, he knew an outburst would be the least productive move he could make right now.

"How many?" she asked astutely, worry in her voice. He wasn't surprised by her question. She was intelligent.

"Need ya'll to stay here." he said quietly, purposely leaving her question unanswered.

"My ass!" she snapped at him as she paced back and forth like a tiger in a cage. Rick made a move to her, hands up, showing he meant no harm to body or pride.

"Pru…" he said in that calm, bargaining tone he had.

"Shut up. Ya not goin' up there, just the three of ya. That's suicide!" She said hands on her hips, flinging an arm out in the direction they were headed to punctuate her statement.

"They may not be looking for anything but shelter." Rick offered, faking the adoption of Glenn's former argument in order to soothe the woman's anger. She and Daryl both turned, shooting him an insulted look. She'd seen right through what he was saying and Daryl was just plain offended that he'd think the girl stupid enough to adopt a notion like that. The man was too used to dealing with his own woman.

"One more ain't gunna make a lick'a difference. You get back to the truck with Maggie an' Carol an' ya'll stay off the road 'til we come fer you." He said calmly as he began to move to the driver's side door of the pickup, motioning for Rick and Glenn to get in.

"Don't ya blow me off like that, Daryl! Dammit!" she yelled, stomping behind him. Rick hissed an angry hushing sound at her and Daryl turned around back toward her, jaw set.

"Git. In. The truck." He ground out. He wasn't fucking around. She crossed her arms over her chest and defiantly stared up at him.

"GET IN THE TRUCK!" he roared, lunging forward a bit into her space, firing up a bit anger that harkened back to when they first met. She stared at him, seething for a moment, before she drew her hands up to his chest and shoved him into the side of the truck. Hard. She did it again as he tried to push himself off the body of the truck. He wasn't about to retaliate with force, but he sure as hell wasn't going to let her continue what she was doing. On the third shove, though, his will to stop her fell limp and he coiled his arms up over his face and head and drew a leg up into his body reflexively. The bulldozing ended abruptly, and he peeked back at her through his arms. She was both crestfallen and still a bit angry…And maybe a little ashamed.

Without a word she turned around and walked back to the truck and he unfurled his limbs from himself and slumped into the cab of the truck, slamming the door behind him. He didn't look over at the other two men who had just seen the assault, though he felt them staring at him in disbelief. He waited until he heard the engine of the SUV come to life again before starting the truck up, and putting it in drive.

Another five minutes up the road and he pulled over and they got out. Glenn went to Maggie to better explain what was going on. Rick stood at the passenger side door and Daryl stood at the tailgate and watched Maggie plead with Glenn, begging him not to go, but wanting to know if her father and sister were safe, just the same. Glenn leaned in and reassured her with a quick kiss, and Daryl averted his eyes, looking over at Pru as she sat in the front passenger seat. He wanted very badly to go to her, despite how angry and hurt he was. When he caught her glance she turned from him and shook her head. His head fell and he dragged himself back to the cab of the truck to retrieve his crossbow and the claw hammer.

"Glenn!" he snapped, hurrying the kid along. A second later he was back at his side and they began walking off into the woods towards whatever was waiting for them.

**. . .**

It was a short walk through the trees to the ranger station. Under ten minutes. But that short expanse of time seemed to stretch out into eternity. Every possible scenario played out in his mind as they walked through the woods, from them coming up on a graveyard to a Mexican standoff. None of the ideas in his head were positive. He knew in his gut this was going to be a fucking awful situation. One that was probably life-shattering.

A few yards before the lip of the clearing, they slowed and ducked behind a large fallen tree, effectively obscuring themselves from any watchful eyes. They could hear the voices of men shouting. Glenn handed him the binoculars. Right away Daryl saw two men standing on the fringes, scanning the area with their eyes. They bastards had automatic weapons. They were already out-gunned. Another had Herschel kneeling in the dirt next to two massive trucks. One was a huge, black Durango, the other, a silver Chevy 3500. The thing may as well have been a tank. In the bed of the second truck sat the motorcycle, mocking him.

There was a fourth man standing on the hood of that truck, as well. He assumed that was the ringleader. The man was tall, heavily built under the thick leather jacket he wore. The way in which he stood and spoke was gritty and arrogant…And familiar. He looked down to the man's right hand and was horrified at what he saw.

A stump. A fucking stump covered with a cap that ended with a knife.

Daryl pulled the binoculars away from his eyes once, twice, and then rubbed at them. Clearly, he was hallucinating. Right? There was no fucking way…

And then the man in question turned to one of the other men and responded to something he'd said with a laugh. _That_ laugh. The same loud, whooping laugh that had ridiculed him his whole life.

"Merle." He breathed. Rick grabbed the binoculars out of his shaking hand, roughly.

He shouldn't have brought them here to this place. He knew Merle had known about it. Merle knew the area as well as he did and he was a fool to think for a second that he was dead. He walked them right into a death trap.

"Oh god." Glenn lamented. Just then the sound of the front doors being jammed opened pulled their eyes away from Merle's back. T-Dog was being dragged through the door by two more men. The three men looked on in horror as Merle hooted again and jumped down off the hood of the diesel beast beneath him.

"Look what we got here! A familiar face!" Merle said as he sauntered up to their bloodied friend. He stopped just in front of him and smiled down. Suddenly he brought his booted foot up and kicked him in the gut. T-Dog let out a pained groan and fell forward. Daryl winced at the sight, knowing the feeling he was currently experiencing, haven fallen victim to the same move a number of times growing up.

Merle knelt down in the dirt next to where T-Dog was now retching and gasping for air, "Good to see you again, friend! How you been?" He didn't wait for an answer before continuing the conversation by himself, "Me? Well, I ain't been doin' so bad, OTHER THAN LOSIN' MAH DAMN _HAND!"_

He punched T-Dog again as he lay in the dirt before leaning forward to speak harshly at him again. "Now you tell me where Officer Friendly and that piss-ass, turncoat, little brother a'mine's at, nigger. 'Fore I bring down the wrath a'God on you."

The doors swung open again and a man with a khaki, blood soaked jacket stumbled through followed by another man who was yanking Carl by the arm as he thrashed about wildly.

"He fucking shot me! The brat shot me!" the man crowed as he crumpled to the ground. One of the men that had dragged T-Dog out moved to the injured man's side and flipped him over. Merle spat on T-Dog before rising up and walking over to the small boy.

"Ain't nobody ever tol' you not to play with guns, kid?" he snarled as he pulled Rick's old campaign hat from his head to inspect his face. He looked from the hat to Carl. Again and again. Daryl could see him piecing together the facts.

"No!" Merle laughed in disbelief, "No, that's too good!...That do-goodin' pig was yer pa the whole FUCKIN' time? Woo!" He turned back to the men standing around him, a huge smile on his face.

"Regular fairytale endin' here boys! That pig I tol' ya'll 'bout that handcuffed me to that roof? Said he was lookin' for his wife an' kid?...They was in the same camp as me that whole damn time, they was! Ain't that fuckin' sweet as pie?"

Merle turned back to the kid, hat still in his hand and brought it up to his mouth. Ever the fucking bully, he hocked a huge gob of phlegm and spit into it before placing it back in Carl's head and walking back over to the downed man.

He knelt down next to the man who was panting and whining in pain. The man looked more like a boy, really, now that the color was slowly draining from his features. Maybe Glenn or Randall's age, Daryl figured.

"How you holdin' up here, Wade?" he said as he pulled the bloody jacket open to inspect the wound.

"Fine, Merle. Right as rain." Wade joked, wincing. Merle tutted when he saw the hole that tore through the other man's skin, looked back up to him, and then back to Carl.

"In the fucking liver, kid?" he said, distastefully. He turned back to Wade and frowned a bit.

"Shame." He said, as he pulled the gun from his waist and aimed it at Wade's head.

"NO! NO N-"

The shot rang through the air clearly and Wade slumped back into the gravel in the drive. This was too much to watch. If Merle was willing to do that to one of his own men, there was no telling what he'd do to any one of their group. He looked over at Rick who was sucking ragged breaths in through the hand covering his mouth and then to Glenn who looked like he was about to cry. He had to diffuse the situation before it got worse. He sucked in a breath and stood, moving over the fallen tree and walking into full view.

"Merle!" he called out loudly once he was clear of the trees. Immediately, there were a whole bunch of guns pointed at him and he stopped dead in his tracks. He heard Rick and Glenn coming up behind him and he cursed them both inwardly for being such loyal, dyed-in-the-wool morons.

_Way to blow your cover, guys._

Merle wouldn't have missed Glenn, and he could have lied and said Rick had died. That had been his plan. As long as anyone inside hadn't given it away, anyway. So much for that fucking plan, though. His kept locked on his brother though he wanted, badly, too roll his eyes.

"There he is!" Merle turned around slowly with a grim smile on his lips, arms extended in a welcoming gesture, "There he is…Boys, I want ya'll to meet mah little brother!...Mah weak-minded, sad excuse for a little brother…The leftovers! What came out after all this."

Merle puffed out his chest and gestured to himself with the gun in his good hand. The other men around them all chuckled a little.

"Boys! This here is Darylena Dixon!...Though, he prefers 'Daryl'!...C'mon, baby brother! Why don'cha give us a curtsey?"

The laughter grew louder around him and his brother joined in and Daryl's snarl drew tighter across his mouth. He was used to it. He was forty years old and the world may have ended, but he suddenly felt like he was fourteen again and back in some shitty schoolyard. The only thing that made the situation seem grounded firmly in reality were the muzzles of the automatic rifles pointed at him and the weight of his own crossbow in his hands.

"An' look who you brought along to play! Officer FUCKING Friendly an' yer pet chink! Hmm. We's 'bout to have ourselves some fun, everybody!"

"You ain't gunna do this, Merle. I won' letcha. You did that to yerself," He said in an even tone as he gestured to Merle's missing hand, "If you'da jus' waited a bit longer…We came back to git yer homely ass. All'a us…Hell, I'm the one should be pissed. Fuckin' up an' left without me."

Merle smiled and bowed his head. "Oh, I know you came back. I saw…Watched you cry like a little bitch a couple rooftops over…Watched you pussy out on shootin' that nigger, there. S'how I knew, little man…Woulda went back to collect yer sorry ass, but I knew you was goin' soft after seein' that…But that's okay!"

Merle began to slowly sway over Daryl. Daryl trained his bow on him, knowing that the man was not to be trusted, even for a second.

"…That is o-kay, little brother! Yer big bro is back! An' I'm willin' to forgive an' ferget!...We all make mistakes, sometimes. Yer only human! You was scared! I get it…We got ourselves a nice little sit'ation back 'cross state."

He passed in what he was saying and looked over at Rick before turning back to Daryl, the smile on his face faded away to stern scowl.

"Merle," Rick began, seeing an opening to try to talk the villain down, "Let's sit down and talk this ou-"

"DON'T YOU TALK AT ME, YOU! DON'T YOU OPEN THAT MOUTH!"

His outburst was powerful and loud, and his voice boomed over the vastness of the area, echoing off the trees, the building, and making its way out over the lake. Had someone been standing on the opposite bank, they'd have heard him loud and clear. He turned back to Daryl then, continuing on with his proposal.

"If your pal here turns himself over…Well, I'll make like none'a this ever happened 'tween you an' me. You can come with us, baby brother. Ol' Merle'll keep you safe…Just like ol' times."

"Ain't gunna happen, Merle."

Merle's shoulders drooped a bit when Daryl's quick answer came. Daryl held steady and shifted his feet beneath him, still in his defensive stance, crossbow aimed and at the ready.

"Still not an ounce'a brain in that thick head'a yers…That's alright, man. I replaced yer ass, anyway. Got me a new baby brother! The man you shoulda always been!...Okay, then. Okay. We can do this another way…" he said menacingly.

Merle turned and headed back to where he'd originally been standing. When he passed the body sprawled in the dirt, the hair on the back of Daryl's neck started to prickle with horrified anticipation.

"Hey, Officer! You see I got yer spawn here, right? You e'er heard of 'an eye for an eye'? Let's play 'a hand fer a hand'…"

Rick's breath hitched loudly and he jerked forward, but he and Glenn both caught him by the shoulders and held him back.

"MERLE, PLEASE?" Rick begged, holding back a sob.

Daryl watched in loathing as Merle stowed his gun at his back and grabbed the kid's little paw while the other man held him steady. Carl was shrieking now and trying to kick away as Merle loomed with the knife that had come to replace his hand.

"All you gotta do is wave the white flag, partner! What's it gunna be?" Merle laughed. Daryl's grip tightened on Rick's shirt, still clinging in the back of his head to the hope that his brother was only bluffing. He watched as he slowly raised the blade over his head, completely frozen as Rick fought against him and Glenn.

Without warning, Merle let out a pained howl as loud as the words he'd fired at Rick a moment ago. Daryl shook his head, bringing himself to a bit. His eyes trailed down Merle's arm a bit to his elbow. There was a black, carbon bolt sticking through the joint of them man's arm. A second later, one of the men who'd had their machine guns pointed at their backs face-planted. Daryl startled and looked over at the heavy sound and saw the yellow and red fins of yet another bolt sticking out the side of the bastard's face.

_That fucking woman never listens!_

"THEY GOT SOMEONE IN THE TREES!" a faceless mouth called out from the side of the building, and suddenly the man at their backs was spraying rounds into the dense forest, aimlessly. Rick took the opportunity to spin around and get a clean shot off at the man quickly. He, too, fell to the dirt. Daryl and Glenn moved together to pick up the fallen weaponry, and aimed it back up at the dwindling number of interlopers.

He looked back to Merle who was now cradling his stump in agony. He wouldn't be able to use the sawing motion he'd need to cut through Carl's arm now. The motion, the pressure, and the angle wouldn't allow it. Merle's right arm was again, crippled.

"SON OF A BITCH!" he fumed.

"Odds are evenin' up, Merle. What now?" Rick dared as he pointed his Python at the man.

"Like hell they is!" Merle spat. He reached up with his good hand and tore the arrow out, tossing it to the ground. He grabbed Carl away from the other guy, using him as a shield, and brought his blade to the kid's throat.

"YOU COME ON OUT, YOU HEAR! YOU COME ON OUT OR I'LL CARVE THIS LITTLE SHIT UP LIKE A GODDAMN JACK-O-LAN'RN!" He demanded. The area grew quiet as everyone waited. Merle's eyes darted around the tree line, waiting for a sign of movement as Carl struggled against him. Daryl huffed in consternation, knowing full well that she'd reveal herself after that threat. His heart seized up like he knew it would when he started hearing footsteps snap the twigs and scuff at the dirt behind him. Merle whistled at her and the other men began cat-calling at her and his hackles rose possessively.

"Well, well. Would you look at that…Don' remember seein' you 'round back in Atlanta, dollface. A pair'a tits like you'd stick in my head somethin' awful." Merle said, frankly.

"Let go of the kid, asshole," She demanded. He sling was loaded, pulled back, and she was ready to fire on anything that moved. Daryl knew that the bolt would find its way right between Merle's eyebrows if she wanted to.

"You should listen to her, Merle. She's just as good a shot as Daryl is with his bow." Rick advised. Daryl watched the side of her face as her jaw fell slack.

"Merle?" she gaped, "That's _Merle_?"

He saw some of the wind go out of her sails in the face of having aimed her weapon at his brother. But her hesitation was only momentary, as she clearly realized everyone else had their weapons pointed at him with good reason.

"Ohh! So you heard'a me? E'ery good as they said, huh, darlin'?" Merle hooted.

"Fuck off, man. Ya gunna put the kid down or am I gunna have to drop ya ass?" she snarled.

"You a Yankee? …Man, now don' that jus' put a damper on things, boys? Yankee trash down in our great state'a Georgia?...Chaps my ass, that."

He pressed the knife a bit harder into Carl's face and Daryl could see some blood beginning to drip from the small wound that was forming beneath the sharp steel.

"MERLE." Daryl called again, tone warning.

The door behind Merle popped open one final time and a massive man with a trucker had, a red plaid shirt, and a black, insulated vest over it stomped through. His face was framed by thick, dark mutton chops and he carried a bag of their guns and ammo over one of his thickly muscled shoulders. Behind him were another two men. The first was tearing Michonne along behind him by her long dreadlocks, the second had his hand around the back of Andrea's neck and the other was clutched solidly onto Beth's thin wrist. Andrea's lip was cut and bleeding, and poor Beth was sobbing uncontrollably.

"What's goin' on out here, Merle? We heard sho-"

The man with the too-long sideburns stopped dead in his tracks and narrowed his gaze, fixing it on Pru.

"That's the fuckin' bitch who shot me!" he yelled, pointing with his free hand to her. If there had been an eye that wasn't on the tenacious woman before, it was on her now. Daryl's eyes flicked from the man to Pru and he saw her firm stance begin to weaken as she shook.

"You shittin' me, Deacon?" Merle questioned.

_Deacon?_

The man said nothing. He just dropped the bag to the earth and paced forward with dangerous, long strides. Daryl watched as Pru began to wilt further in the marauding freight train's presence and he moved the aim of the heavy artillery in his hands to Deacon's path. He stilled and his eyes barely came off of Pru as he side-glanced in his direction. Daryl kicked himself, the man had just read him, plain as day, and found his weakness.

"That's her, alright…Nice to see you again, Pru." Deacon confirmed, the corner of his mouth tugging up, taunting Daryl.

Merle's attention went over his shoulder briefly as he surveyed the women that were lined up behind him. He smiled and turned slightly.

"An' Sugar-Tits is here, too? Ain't this some serendipity shit! Look at the family reunion we got goin' here!" Merle said bringing his body back around to face his back to his brother and the rest of the people he was trying to intimidate, "Speakin' of which, Darylena, why don'cha say hello to mah new number two!...My new brother…Deacon Lee."

"Merle! This ain't the brother'a yer's you been goin' on about this whole time, is it?" Deacon called over his shoulder.

"Same one, bro! Same one!" The older Dixon said conversationally, tightening his grip around Carl's chest and arms. Deacon fixed Daryl with a wide grin.

"Yeah, he looks to be as big a faggot as you been claimin'." He laughed. Merle joined him with another raucous, baying laugh.

"You see there, Darylena. No more oil n' water for me!" Merle grinned.

"Yeah, Merle. More like matches n' gasoline…Real happy fer you." Daryl said acerbically.

Deacon went to move forward again, closer to Pru, who was now shaking like a leaf and Daryl stepped forward squaring his shoulders a bit more behind the heavy gun, threateningly. Deacon had a good five inches in height and maybe forty pounds on him, but that wouldn't stop him from going toe-to-toe with him, if that' what it came down to.

"You touch 'er and I'll shoot you so full'a holes you'll look like a goddamn honeycomb." Daryl barked. Merle scoffed at him and furrowed his brow.

"Darylena, you sweet on this here tatted-up, Yankee cooze?...You are, ain'cha?...That's too bad. Deacon been done layed claim to 'er…Long while back."

Daryl sneered at his brother's words, bearing his teeth like a feral dog. His breaths were coming quick and harsh now. He would have blown Deacon away by now, but he had gotten way too close to Pru to risk it. He didn't know this weapon and what it was capable of. It was far too powerful and heavy. He didn't want to lose control of it and wound her or someone else he cared about in the process. They didn't need to know that, though. He kept the hardware locked on the brute in front of him.

"I got me an idea," Merle spoke up suddenly, loosening his grip on Carl just slightly and pointed over at Rick, "Let's ferget about you comin' with us…I'm growin' weary of all this…Senseless killin' an' bloodshed. Seems to me that Deacon sees somethin' he likes over there. How 'bout I turn over the boy if Daryl's hot little piece of ass comes an' makes nice with Deacon?…Apologizes fer damn near killin' him when alls he wanted to do was cozy up?"

"NO!" Daryl shouted despite himself, more so at Pru than at his brother, knowing that the bait had been set for the woman in front of him. She'd give herself up in a heartbeat in exchange for the boy's life. He knew it was a fact and it chilled his bones.

For the first time since she'd stepped foot in the clearing surrounding the ranger station, she slowly turned to lock eyes with him. A sad grin moved across the lower half of her face. He shook his head at her and mouthed the word "_NO"_ at her again. A tear spilled over one of her lower lids and she answered back by silently mouthing the words "_I'm sorry"._ She turned back to face Merle and Deacon again, ready to comply.

"The boy first, Merle." She said as she cried softly.

"What kinda fool you take me fer, darlin'?" he chided, "No, no. Same time."

She nodded in agreement, casting her eyes to Carl, then and smiling. The boy was red-faced and sobbing loudly, scared out of his mind for himself and his friends. Daryl still had hope that she would somehow flip the situation on them at the last second, but his hope was dashed as he watched her allow her trusty slingshot to slip out of her fingers and fall to the ground, stepping forward into Deacon's reach. As Deacon wrapped his thick arms around her, Daryl tried to rush forward, but felt himself being held back a pair of hands, Rick or Glenn's, he couldn't tell who they belonged to.

"NO! NO!" he yowled, fighting with everything in him to break away. Merle kicked Carl hard in the back and he tumbled forward, crawling over to where T-Dog and Herschel were still lying on the ground. Daryl hadn't noticed, though. He was too busy screaming, fighting, and watching as Deacon grabbed Pru by her long, dark hair and turned her around to face Daryl again.

She looked so scared and so fucking frail in his arms. She was sobbing now as the man yanked hard and buried his face at her temple, sucking in a deep breath thick with her scent. Deacon turned his dark eyes to Daryl and winked.

"I'll take good care'a this one…She an' I got some hist'ry." He rumbled, nuzzling at her cheek.

"It's okay, baby…It's okay. I'm sorry." She whispered, eyes still on Daryl's. She was scared out of her mind and was trying to comfort _him_. If he could have managed to get away and take the big motherfucker out, the first thing he'd do after he got his hands on her was shake some sense into her.

Daryl fell to the ground, dragging either Rick or Glenn with him. He figured out then that it must have been Glenn. Had Rick taken him down, he would have had him in some sort of hold. Whoever was at his back was fumbling around on top of him like they were trying to get a grip on a wet eel.

Merle's attention was now elsewhere. He was over by where the other women were being held. He smiled in that disgusting, lecherous way he had at Andrea.

"I missed you, girl! Tell me yer fine ass re-thunk my offer from last time I saw you…Or you still a rug-muncher?"

"Eat shit, Merle." She retaliated.

"Too bad, sweetheart. I 'magine it would be a lot more fun for you, was you willin'. No matter, though, we'll still give it the ol' college try."

He moved to Beth next and grabbed her face to get a better look at her.

"This one's mighty young, Frankie…Good thing sixteen won't getchu twenty no more!" he said to the man that was holding onto both women. He began to move away from them when the other man, the one who had Michonne by the hair, spoke up.

"What about this one, boss?" he asked. Merle simply continued walking, waving the man off with his good hand.

"Not into darkies, Gil. I 'spect the Governor won't care, though. We'll hand that one over to 'im…Now tie them gashes up an' get them in the truck."

"They weren't part of the deal, Merle!" Rick spat, voice raw with emotion.

"I'm makin' 'em part of it. You don' like it, you can kiss my lily-white ass." He said as he walked over to Deacon, who was still slowly backing away from them with Pru in his arms. Merle slung his left arm over Deacon's shoulder and smiled at him, sickly.

"Let's get a move on, brother. I know yer eager to get home an' show yer friend some genuine… Southern hospitality." He laughed as he wagged his eyebrows. Deacon laughed and began dragging Pru over to the Chevy as he patted her down for more weapons. He tore off the quiver at her thigh and pulled her single gun from her shoulder holster, stashing it at his back.

"Yer riding up front with us, girlie. Ain't lettin' you out of my sight again." He said as they reached the front of the truck.

"Wave g'bye now, Darylena." Merle cackled as he turned back to his troop as he inspected the new wound at his right elbow, "Alright, let's get a move on back to Woodbury!"

Daryl's eyes stayed locked on hers as Deacon pulled her around the bumper of the huge pickup and into the passenger seat on his lap.

"Daryl!" she cried out after the door slammed shut. The muffled screech had him back to fighting hard against Glenn again.

He didn't see or hear her running out of the woods behind them. He was too distracted. Before he realized what was happening or who it was, and way before anyone could make a move to stop her, Carol was tearing off towards Merle with that crowbar of hers raised above her head. She landed a clean blow to his shoulder, but when he wheeled around, he slashed at her with the blade affixed to his stump, and she fell into a heap at his feet.

"CAROL!" Glenn and Daryl both yelled.

"Fuckin' bitch!" Merle spat as he kicked her once in the ribs for good measure. He rubbed at his shoulder, shooting his distraught blood relative a dirty look, and pulled himself into the driver's seat next to Deacon and Pru. Seconds later, the rest of his brother's men were back in the cars, along with a good amount of their food, water, guns, and other supplies.

Merle pulled the truck around and hollered one final time out the window as they drove off.

"Adios, fellas!" he laughed loudly. Daryl couldn't see him, though. He had a view of the passenger side, and all he could see was the back of Pru's head as they pulled away, down the dirt road that led back to the highway, and out of sight.

**...**

He lay in the dirt, breathing heavily for a few moments before the true gravity of the situation hit him. Somehow, he finally managed to toss Glenn's weight from his back and sit up. He was howling again, voice cracking with every cursed syllable that spilled from his mouth.

"No, goddammit! NO!" he bellowed as he made the irrational move to run down the trail after the trucks. Rick caught him and tugged him back. He slumped forward and rested his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath and stop himself from vomiting all over his own feet.

Suddenly he remembered that Carol had been injured, and he stood to his full height and jogged back over to where she was sprawled. Herschel was already kneeling over her, his own tears falling for the daughter that he'd just watched carted off like a lamb to slaughter. Carol's shirt was soaked with blood, and Daryl immediately feared the worst. A deep, penetrating wound. Complete evisceration. Something horrendous.

When Herschel lifted her shirt, however, they discovered it was only a shallow, glancing wound across her right side to just below her breasts. It was shallow, but it was long. A good eight inches in length at least. She squirmed on the ground as Herschel inspected it.

"Quit moving!" Daryl snapped, voice ragged.

"We gotta get her inside. I need to stitch that." Herschel said, wiping at his eyes. Daryl didn't hesitate. He scooped her up in his arms and carried her inside.

"Put me down! I can walk, Daryl!" she argued, hissing at the feeling of her open wound rubbing up against his chest. He ignored her as he carried her upstairs.

When he got to the first aid room, he dumped her onto the examining table and stormed out, leaving Herschel to do his patch job. He ran back down the stairs and out into the yard, back to where Glenn was helping T-Dog to his feet and Rick was clutching his boy to him asking him where his mother was. The boy apparently had the good sense to get her to hide behind the washing machine downstairs and made her promise not to come out no matter what.

"C'mon." he said walking over to scoop up the weapons that were scattered around. His crossbow, the machine gun, Pru's slingshot and quiver were all gathered and stashed on him. He walked to the dead man that Pru had taken down with the bolt, and pulled that from his skull, then searched the body for more weapons. A snub-nosed revolver and a switchblade turned up. When he finished checking that body over, he moved to the second, the one Rick had shot.

"C'MON!" he repeated, irritated that no one was moving, "We gotta follow 'em!"

Rick set Carl back down and went to Daryl's side as he picked over the corpse. He hesitated for a second before Daryl felt Rick's hand land on his shoulder. Daryl knew it was coming and swiped at the gesture meant to soothe as soon as contact was made.

"Don' pull that shit with me right now, Rick. Mah girl just traded her ass to two trucks full'a rapists an' murderers for yer boy. Don' fuckin' do it." He warned in an unsettlingly calm tone, stilling his movements but not looking over his shoulder.

"Daryl", Rick said quietly as he rested his hands at his belt, "We can't run off after them right now. T-Dog and Carol are injured…We don't know what kind of supplies we have..."

"I ain't jus' gunna let this set! C'mon, Glenn, let's go!" he shouted, making his way over to Pru's jeep. He walked a few paces, but slowed to a stop when he realized he didn't hear Glenn coming up behind him. He turned slowly, furious at the kid's idling. Glenn looked apologetic and grief-stricken.

"Fuck ya'll, then. I'll go find Maggie. I know she ain't gunna sit on her ass an' cry while her kid sister's out there getting' torn to pieces by Merle an' his men!" he threatened, continuing his walk back to the jeep.

"Wait!" Glenn called, "Just wait, okay? We can't go out there without a plan."

He stopped, back to the passenger side. Finally he was making some headway with these people. He watched as Glenn turned to Rick, seeking approval of the statement he'd just made, and Rick bowed his head in defeat. He nodded and then looked back up at Daryl.

"Do you even know where we're going?" he asked the hunter. Daryl stopped for a moment, trying to think. What had Merle said the name of the place was?

"Woodbury." T-Dog grunted, "He said they were goin' back to Woodbury."

Daryl had no idea where that was, but he was going to find it come hell or high water. He kicked at the dirt for a moment before Glenn spoke up.

"I had a friend who lived down in Columbus! It's down that way!" he offered.

"That's clear back across the state." Rick warned.

"I don't give a fuck if it's in Guam, right now. 'Sides, they could decide to turn around an' come back at any time. Ain't safe here no more." Daryl growled as he began adjusting the straps of the quiver he'd gifted to Pru, what seemed like ages ago, so it could fit around his own leg, "T, you good?"

The big man stood a bit straighter and forced himself to bite back the pained expression that was trying to force its way past the muscles in his face. "Yeah," he said, "Just gunna be sore is all…Ready when you are."

Daryl was a bit shocked by the man's reply. In all the months he'd known him, T-Dog had never actively volunteered for an overtly dangerous mission. He was always the one who'd hang back and hold down the fort. He had no idea what brought about the sudden change in the man. Hell, maybe he was planning on exacting his own brand of vengeance upon Merle for everything that had happened. Whatever it was, Daryl was grateful to have the man stand up so eagerly, ready to fight for their group. He nodded at the man in thanks.

"Rick?" he said, turning back to their leader. He wasn't the type to beg, but at this point, he was thinking he was just about there. He needed all the help he could get if he was to head back from where they'd originally come from to retrieve those women. Rick stood in front of him, unmoving. Regretful, but unmoving. Daryl wasn't exactly sure why he was so hesitant to get moving…To go after the kidnapped members of their group. How could the decision be anything but easy? There wasn't even a choice to be made or options to weigh out as far as he was concerned.

"RICK!" Daryl yelled. He felt himself about to break. His shaky breaths were visible in the cold autumn air.

"You know if it was Lori or Carl she'd be the first one to step up! You _know_ that!" he implored, shaking his head and angling a finger at the man. Rick drew in a heavy breath but stayed where he was, rubbing at his face nervously.

What happened next though, had him finally moving, and had thrown Daryl and the rest of the men for a loop. Carl was walking towards Daryl and the CJ. In passing, he reached out a hand to Daryl, asking for one of the guns he'd just pulled off the bodies. Daryl obliged, reaching for one of the handguns stashed at his back, and handing it over to the kid, and he continued to make his way over to the jeep. He opened the door, and boosted himself up onto the footstep, not quite pulling himself in, but making his intention clear.

"C'mon, Dad. We gotta go." The kid said gravely. Rick finally nodded and began walking over to Daryl, as well.

"Carl, go in and get your mom. Tell her and Herschel to start getting things together so we can move. And check on Carol." He said shooing the boy inside. Carl jogged off, suddenly seeming more like a dependable young man to the hunter, rather than a scared child that needed protecting.

Rick came to stand in front of him, close enough to be heard in a whisper, his hand back at his shoulder. Daryl's head fell, unable to look the man in the eye.

"I need you to know I didn't hesitate because I didn't intend on getting them back. I have a responsibility to everyone to make sure we're up to this. I won't lose anyone else…I can't." He said. The phrasing translated easily in between Daryl's ears. In other words, Rick was asking him in a roundabout way if he was alright. If he was up to the task. If he'd be able to hold himself together.

He couldn't answer honestly. What they'd just been through…What _he'd _just been through, it may have been one of the more horrifying things they'd experienced since the dead began to rise. He brought his head back up slowly, looking to Rick with an uncertain answer, eyes stinging a bit.

"Yeah."

Rick's lips firmed into a thin line as he studied Daryl's face. He felt exposed, like one of the corpses that he'd just picked over, but had no energy to defensively pitch a snide remark at his friend or retreat into himself. Rick sighed.

"Okay...Okay." He said softly, pulling his hand from Daryl's arm and turning back to Glenn and T-Dog, "Let's gather what we can. Glenn, go back to the trucks. You and Maggie bring them around so we can toss what we can in. Fifteen minutes, no more. Then we're gone."

Daryl swallowed hard and pulled himself off the cold metal at his back, readying himself for the journey they were about to embark upon.


	32. Chapter 31

**After working sixty hours this week, I worked twenty hours today. Twenty. TWENTY.**

**And then I was too tired to even go home...So I'm laying on a roll-away cot in a closet with 34 howling dogs in the next room as I hammed out the last 3,000 words of this chapter...And I have to be awake and at the Greyhound station in...4 hours to hop a bus to the friggen woods to see *my* hillbilly(I do actually have one. They're great when they clean themselves up some, I swear).**

**What the fuck is my life. For real. It's not even a question. It's a statement. ****_WHAT THE FUCK IS MY LIFE._**

**ENOUGH COMPLAIN.**

**I do believe that this will be the last chapter for this...Book? Portion?...Thing?**

**Why? Because I can't stand stories that go past 5,000,000 chapters in one shot. So, preemptive strike! And goddammit, I've gone way past 100K words, haha. **

**Have no fear though, my little chickadees! The story shall continue! In sequel form, no less! So if you're looking to see where this hellish little bend in the road will take our poor characters, now would be the time to follow me.**

**This chapter is a lot of dialogue and unsettling as fuck. Or at least I tried to make it that way.**

**EdiBethKain! ****I AM SO SORRY I BRICK WALLED YOU THERE! LOL I hope this chapter keeps up the momentum I built up for you and that it doesn't let you down! Thank you so much for your review and your kind words**

**LittleNikki! **** This chapter has a song, too. It's actually the song I built into the background in the Gov's house. Patsy Cline- Sweet Dreams.**

**Everyone else! I LOVE YOU. LONG TIME. Keep reading and reviewing for me. It really does keep me keepin' on. And like I said, if you want to see what's next, follow follow follow!**

**BED TIME.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own. None of it. Except for a handful of characters.**

* * *

"Welcome home, ladies." Merle rasped as he rolled the big truck to a stop in front of a tall, solid, black metal gate that stretched out far beyond each side of the vehicle. She could tell by the sound of his voice that he was road wearied and happy to be wherever they were. She sat petrified, still as a statue in Deacon's lap. He'd drifted off to sleep in the dark cab of the truck a few minutes back, but his arms were still curled tightly around her.

The ride across the state seemed like it had taken years. The sun had set a short while after they'd been shanghaied from their ranger station in Homer, making the claustrophobic conditions in the crew cab feel even more so.

Before they'd left, Beth, Andrea, and Michonne had been loaded, none too easily, to their credit, into the back seat. She kept her head turned forward most of the time, though, not wanting the other women to see the fear in her eyes, especially young Beth. And especially while Deacon was running his meaty hands up her thighs and over her stomach crudely.

Merle, for his part, had been rather calm and talkative most of the drive. It was almost as if he was trying to be comforting in some warped way. He talked loudly about how much they'd enjoy their new accommodations and company.

"No more roughin' it for you dainty lil' things…That is, if ya'll decide to play nice, anyways. Got us a fully fucntionin' town, we do!" he'd announced among other inanities and vacuous garbage. She'd tuned most of it out while she stared at the clock on the dash, marking off the number of soft green minuets that ticked by in her mind.

The high barrier before the gate began to slide open, and it slowly revealed just that, though- A town. A living, breathing town. It was dark for the most part, but there were large portable light towers that were illuminating the street and the buildings that stretched on ahead.

A stocky man sporting a ball cap and another high-powered automatic jogged out to the truck and came to Merle's window. He slowly rolled his head along the headrest, clearly annoyed at something, and then moved to lower the window.

"Any bit, Merle?" the man asked in a low, serious voice.

"Kiss mah ass, Eli." He returned. His tone was soaked in contempt. The other man shook his head and then turned back his attention back to the gate.

"All clear!" Eli called, waving the trucks onward. Merle eased onto the accelerator on pulled the truck inside the walls and steered it down the street. They finally came to rest in front of what looked like a small, old town hall. The front was nicely painted, and the lawn and landscaping were well manicured. The place looked like part of a set of some 50's family sitcom. Pru startled as Merle went to slap at Deacon's shoulder.

"Git yer ass up, you lunkhead. We're back." He said as he opened the door and hopped out. Deacon jostled her in his lap a bit as he woke. He came to quickly and squeezed her waist a bit and hummed into her shoulder.

"Thought all that was just a real nice dream." He said as he moved to toss the door open to her right. He shifted his weight and dropped her out of the seat first, still clutching tightly to her shoulder, before lowering himself out behind her. He ushered her along by that same shoulder, around the front of the truck, and up onto the steps that led into the lit up town hall. Merle turned around in front of them, at the top of the steps as he removed the bladed fixture mounted at the end of his stump.

"Get them women inside…Put 'em in that cell in the downstairs 'til we're ready for 'em…Rest a'you unload all that shit…An' be careful with mah bike! I find one more scratch on it an' I'm gonna repaint it with somebody's blood." He ordered. At that, she heard Deacon chuckle from behind her. Merle stood to the side as he threw the door open and Deacon pushed her inside. The hallway was bright and pristine. The walls weren't streaked and splattered with blood, there were no broken or boarded up windows, and the scent of decay was absent. There had been no death here, or if there had been at one time, it was cleaned up so well that there wasn't a trace left. It was surreal to see such an untouched and functioning reminder of the way the world had been before it was swallowed up by the hell outside those gates, and at the same time, the fact that it was uncorrupted was hellishly unsettling.

Now that they were in the light, she realized that Merle was staring down at her. He came through the door and set his blade down on a table that lined the wall. She kept her eyes averted, staring at the floor between their boots. He reached up and pulled her chin up and forward forcing her to look at him. She was shocked at the sight of the eyes that looked into her own. They were so similar to Daryl's eyes but not as blue. Nothing was as blue as her Daryl's eyes. Her own eyes responded to the thought by betraying her fear with the saline dew that threatened to spill past her lashes. She gave a weak snarl to him as he inspected her face and he answered it with the mix of a sneer and a smile.

"That brother a'mine always had shit taste in pussy…Hate to say it, but I'm damn near proud'a him this time, girlie. You're a looker."

She spat in his and the glob of moisture landed on his leathery cheek just below his right eye. He blinked and a smile came to his face as he wiped it off and looked at it on his fingertips. Suddenly he drew his good arm up and clamped his thick fingers down around her throat. Her head was going to explode from the pressure and her larynx was going to crack and cave in. Andrea and Michonne were struggling and fighting against the men bringing them in at the sight of him grabbing her by the throat.

"That shit ain't lady like." He said darkly. He released her with a bit of a shove and she hit against Deacon's chest.

"Jus' like his disrespectful ass." Merle grumbled, referring to his younger sibling, "Take Peggy Sue an' her friends downstairs fer a bit."

He walked off through a wide doorway at the left of the hallway and suddenly she felt Deacon roughly guiding her further into the heart of the two-hundred year old building. Down the hall, they came to a small door that, when opened, led into the dark basement. The light was switched on and down the creaky, wooden planks they descended until they were standing in front of a tiny jail cell that must have been as old as the building was. The thick, black bars were corroded in some places but they still look unsettlingly sturdy. She felt the fight come back into her and made a move to pull out of Deacon's grip as they moved closer to the door.

She dipped away from him easily, as slow-moving and lumbering as he was, and doubled back through the other men gut-checking the one who was holding onto Michonne with her shoulder. That allowed Michonne enough space to pull away and twist the arm of the guy that had been holding tight to her. The sound of his wrist snapping was loud in the low ceilinged, tiny, concrete area.

"Dammit, man! Grab 'er!" Deacon yelled as he went to push past the other men. Pru grabbed onto the open banister over the stairs and began pulling herself up past the six or seven lowest steps. A powerful hand grabbed at her foot and she kicked back at it with both feet, landing a heavy blow to something hard that grunted loudly but didn't relent in its yanking on her limb. She felt her hands losing purchase on the wood and sliding back down and off.

She met the concrete floor face first and all the air, along with the actual ability to breathe at all, left her for the second time in a matter of minutes. She struggled to suck in a painful breath as Deacon grabbed her up by her left foot and wrist and just about chucked her into the cell. She rolled onto her belly and all but sucked on the musty old floor, mouth wide, trying to inflate her lungs. Beth was tossed in next and the weight of the girl as she fell on top of her only made breathing harder. Somewhere in the room, the struggle was still continuing, but she wouldn't have been able to find it past the starburst eating up her vision. Michonne was taking one or two of the men on alone, and holding her own.

As Andrea was pushed in, Pru could hear a gun cock and Beth screamed. Pru waited for it. She waited to hear that gun go off and the dull sound of Michonne's body falling to the floor come right after it. But it didn't happen. Everything just got quiet and suddenly slow, defiant footsteps were marching into the cell and coming to stop in the far corner. The heavy door groaned and swung shut after that, and then a clinking came as something was knocking into the iron pen's bars. She wheezed and rolled onto her side and Beth pulled her legs off her back, sitting up to take her by the shoulders.

"Ya'll better learn to behave yerselves. An' quick." Deacon suggested tersely before moving to walk up the stairs followed by the other men. Andrea was at her side after that and she began choking as she tried to sit up. The Clydesdale that was standing on her chest was apparently deciding to finally fuck off and the let air into her lungs again.

"Are you okay?!" Andrea said in a quiet, shaky voice. Pru just nodded and pointed at Michonne, the gesture meant for one of them to check the other woman.

"Stop it. I'm fine." She said sternly, walking to where they'd been locked into the cell. Beth and Andrea helped Pru hoist herself to her feet, and her eyes went to where Michonne was standing. The woman stuck her hands through the bars and lifted whatever it was keeping the door locked closed. She scoffed and dropped it then began shaking and rattling the door roughly.

"A fucking bike lock? Seriously?" she shouted incredulously, angling her raging eyes up the flight of rickety wooden steps. She reared back on a single leg and kicked forcibly at the metal bars, causing a loud, clanging hum to rattle and reverb around them in the small space.

"It's not gunna break, man." She wheezed, leaning her weight into Andrea's arm.

"I know that." Michonne bit out. She turned to face the other captives, eyes angry and cast to the floor and slid her back down the bars into a sitting position. She looked up a silent moment later and shook her head at Pru, grimacing.

"He got you real good." She said quietly. Andrea went to prod at the quickly purpling flesh of her throat but Pru swatted her away.

"I hadn't noticed." She snarked, pushing away from Andrea's support to rest her weight against the wall opposite Michonne.

"What are we gunna do?" Beth whispered in a trembling voice.

"There's nothing we can do…Not right now, anyway." Michonne said wearily, rubbing at her forehead and eyes, "We'll have to make another attempt next time they come and open that door."

"They'll shoot you!" Beth all but sobbed. Michonne rolled her dark eyes and let her head fall back hard against the bars of the cell.

"I'd rather go out fighting than wait around and see what they plan on doing."

Pru rubbed at her throat absently as she crossed her right leg underneath her weight, trying to get comfortable against the cold, hard floor. She winced when her ankle bone rolled over something hard in her boot.

"Oh my god." She said as she reached into her boot. How in Hell had she forgotten about her boot knife. She drew it out and flicked it open, the five inch blade glinting in what dim light the small, old bulb at the foot at the stairs cast into the dank room.

"That would have been significantly more helpful a moment ago." Michonne said tersely.

"Yeah." Pru agreed, voice distant as the lives they'd all once lived, as she listened to the sets of heavy feet moving from room to room on across the ancient ceiling above them.

**...**

It couldn't have been longer than twenty minutes or so. The door at the top of the stairs creaked back open and a troop of booted feet were plodding down the stairs. She'd sheathed the knife and tucked the bit of fabric that spilled out of her boot more tightly around it long ago, but it was still at the front of her mind. The feel of that hilt in her grasp was their ticket out of this place. Andrea and Beth had called her and Michonne insane for wanting to try for freedom again, which was fine by her. She knew it was crazy, and that they'd more likely end up dead than not, but that was option was far more appealing than what she knew was awaiting them.

A different man, one who she hadn't seen before, was heading up the bunch that had obviously sent to fetch them. If she had to describe the guy, she would have said there wasn't a damn thing about him that struck her as a distinguishable person. The only thing that struck her at all about the guy was how absolutely _average_ he looked. Average height, middle age, and no expression whatsoever across his as-good-as featureless face.

She rose to her feet defensively when he came to stop in front of the cell, rolling his eyes and shaking his head just a bit in a '_how the hell did I get roped into this one?' _way as he removed the lock from the door.

"Don't make us have to shoot you, okay?" he asked quietly. It was a damn _request _not an order. Four other men walked into the cell, each grabbing hold of one of the women and roughly ushering them out and up the flight of stairs.

"Get them out to the truck, and keep someone in with them." She heard him call from the back of the pack.

"Right, Eli." The man tugging at Andrea said from in front of her. Apparently, this Eli fellow was unpopular with the rest of the locals for some reason. The same disdain for the man which had played amongst Merle's crudely spoken words upon driving up to the gate had just echoed in the voice of this other guys.

_Who the hell is this guy, and why does everyone hate him?_

They were led out of the building and back down the steps to the bed of a waiting pickup truck. Coaxed in with the muzzle of a shotgun at their backs, the four sat as close to the window at the back of the cab as possible. One of the men, the one with said shotgun, climbed in after them, closed the tailgate up, and perched his rear on the wall of the bed.

"G'head." He called to the driver, who'd immediately brought the vehicle to life and began to drive. Pru eyed the man with the gun carefully through a down turned sideways glare. She felt Michonne's eyes on her, eagerly waiting for her to make a move. She shook her head. It was far from the right moment, yet.

They drove through the winding streets of the immaculate little town for a few blocks. It was dark, mostly. All the lights in the buildings were out, but every block or two there would be another one of those big portable lights acting as a lonely street lamp, fending off the blackness of the area at which it had been placed. The ride was a very short one, only a handful of blocks, but it had felt like a short roadtrip. They'd gone off the main street immediately and wound through smaller side streets until slowing in what looked to be a neighborhood.

The houses were spread out down the street, most sitting on large plots of property. The houses were older looking but well kept up with. Most had large screened in porches or verandas, some with whitewashed picket fencing. She imagined that at one time, maybe even as recent as last spring, people had used those spaces for entertaining friends and relatives or lounging around on a hammock while sipping on sweet tea and reading old, classic novels. One house had a tire swing that hung from large silver maple in the yard, and its lazy swaying in the chilled air sealed and cemented the eerie feeling of the place for her immediately.

Before she could gather her wandering mind back up, she was being yanked from the truck again. Her eyes were drawn to a soft light making its way through thinly veiled windows at her left. The house was wide and tall with black shutters that framed those glowing windows, a large green door with an ornate knocker, and a fenced in yard. Silence screamed around them as they were dragged along with only the shuffling of uneager, booted feet to break it up.

As they drew near to the porch, though, the faint sound of music could be heard. It must have been coming from inside the house, because as they neared the front door, it grew slightly more audible with every footstep. It was old and slow and romantic. It was something that her Aunt had listened to often, though she couldn't place it exactly. The soft, graceful, evocative voice accompanied by wistful string and piano broadcasting from somewhere in that house was foreboding, singing to them of the lurid events that would soon unfold.

One of the men in front of her reached that door and he led the group inside. The first thing that struck her aside from the again, unsullied, interior of the home, was the _warmth. _Outside, the night air was chilly, and her skin had been reminded of the season, rather redundantly, as the wind had blown over them while they were in the exposed bed of the truck. In here though, it was comfortable, and she found her body wanting to shake off the unease and relax into the sunniness that the home radiated, not only in temperature, but in the other half of its demeanor. The house was a two-sided coin, treacherous and haunting as well as nostalgic and inviting.

"Dining room." One of the men at her back directed quietly up the line.

They made a right turn off yesteryear's foyer and into a well-loved and comfortable looking formal parlor, where she discovered the music had been coming from. An old record player sat in the corner and the woman's haunting voice continued to flow from the speakers. Through the doorway at the other end of the room, she could see and hear Merle talking and laughing amicably with someone while he pushed some food around a plate in front of him. She watched as their movement forward caught in his periphery and he turned to face them, standing.

"Looks like our dinner guests are finally here." He chuckled. She was pulled through the doorway and into the bright, open dining area. The three men stood upon their entrance at the linen covered, well-set table; Merle, Deacon, and another man, one who they hadn't seen yet. He was probably just under Merle's height, with a lean build. His dark hair was kempt and he looked clean. He projected a more refined air than that with which Deacon or Merle carried themselves.

"Bunch of fucking southern gentlemen." Pru muttered sarcastically under her voice. Merle heard her and barked a sharp laugh in here direction.

"An' don'chu ferget it, girlie." He said as he plopped back down into his chair. Deacon was now laughing and shaking his head as he, too lowered back into his chair.

"Ladies, why don't you have a seat?" the stranger at the head of the table asked. Before they could even begin to consider sitting, they were all shoved roughly in to chairs. Beth and Andrea were placed on the side next to Merle, with Beth closest to the new man, Pru and Michonne on the opposite side of the table flanking Deacon.

"Can we get you anything? Food? Drinks? Perhaps a cold beer or a glass of wine?" the new man asked again.

"How's about some shut up with a side of go fuck yaself?" Pru snapped. Merle's good hand immediately balled into a fist and slammed into the table in front of them, causing it to shake and the china, silverware, and glasses upon it to rattle.

"I 'bout had enough'a that smart mouth a'yers." he said crooking his finger at her. Pru snarled, just about to open her mouth to say something that he'd make her regret, when the other man spoke up again.

"Merle." Was all he'd said. His tone was warning, but very even. Merle looked over to the man who was very obviously his superior, and then turned his head back to Pru, allowing a long rush of air to escape his flared nostrils. The other man leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table and folded his hands in front of his face.

"Jennifer!" he called over his shoulder, tone again devoid of anything resembling emotion.

"Mhmm?" a happy voice came back from the kitchen. The head of a woman around Pru or Michonne's age popped around the corner. A woman. Now she was really confused.

"Four more plates, please. Water, too?" He asked.

"Sure thing." The woman said, pulling her head back behind the wall. He turned his head back to the table and Pru saw him smile at Michonne who was sitting just passed Deacon's hunched body as he gobbled the food on his plate tactlessly. Pru's lip curled in disgust. He looked like a pig feeding from a troth. Sounds and all.

"So," the man began again, "Did you all enjoy your ride here?"

_That_ did it. Not only for her, though. Apparently Michonne had had enough of the game the man was playing, and she beat her to the punch.

"Cut the shit. What is this place, and who the hell do you think you are to treat us like chattel?" she flared. Pru heard Merle mutter a slur under his breath across from her like an insolent teenager and she glared at him again. The man at the end of the table either ignored it or didn't care that he'd said it.

The man, to whom Michonne spoke, cleared his throat and shot her a cheap, condescending smile.

"This, my dear, is Woodbury, and I'm the Governor…"

Four sets of eyes moved around the table catching each other a few times. Had they even heard him correctly?

_What the fuck?_

_This guy's crazy._

_Deluded motherfucker._

_I have a bad feeling about this. _

"…You didn't answer my entire question." Michonne said finally. Suddenly the woman who'd been in the kitchen came out carrying a large silver serving tray and started to pass ornate china dishes heaped with food to them. As she handed the food out to the women, Pru looked her up and down realizing more with every second that the woman playing waitress was completely at ease. This chick wasn't being held against her will, or if she was, she'd succumbed to Stockholm Syndrome a while back. She just carried on, dealing out plates and water glasses, a small, polite smile on her lips all the while.

Pru was angry, confused, and creeped the fuck out.

"…penance."

The word drew her back to the conversation that was going on between the other members of the dining party.

"Ya can't keep them prisoner because ya think someone else wronged ya." She said as she stared in Merle's direction, shaking her head.

"Well, there's the fun part, sweetheart. They ain't prisoners…Most a'that back there was just fer show. To get yer boys all riled…I ain't no damn savage, unlike some'a us." Merle explained plainly, as he tore into a chuck of game meat like, well, a fucking savage bastard. He nodded over to where Deacon sat at the completion of his sentence and Deacon just laughed quietly.

"So we're free to go?" Andrea piped up skeptically as she crossed her arms.

"No, no, no. I ain't said that." Merle chuckled.

"So then we_ are_ prisoners you ignorant fuck." Michonne snapped. Merle growled at her and went to open his mouth again, only to be interrupted by Deacon's disgustingly full mouth.

"Yer free to choose whether you wanna live or if you wanna die." He smiled, ripping into a piece of freshly made bread. Merle smiled and nodded at the younger man.

"You see, ladies, we have a town to keep in order here. The people of this town depend on each other for food, for fuel, for camaraderie, and for safety. We as leaders," he paused gesturing between Merle, Deacon, and himself, "have a responsibility to these people now. They look to us for all those things…They look to us to provide the lives they once had."

"…And?" Michonne prodded the windbag.

"And with any luck, in the very near future, we will be able to provide a haven for many more survivors." He said as he delicately sliced through a small piece of food and popped it neatly into his mouth.

Pru scoffed, rolling her tired eyes to the ceiling and letting her head roll back. For the first time since she'd sat down at the table, the man, the Governor, looked something other than emotionless. He was annoyed by her comment, and it was very clear by the side cast look he was shooting her. He cut off another small slice of meat and punctuated his next sentence with a bite.

"I assure you, my dear, the ball is already rolling. Our next site has already been cleared out and gated. Shortly, we'll begin repairs…And we may potentially have a third and fourth now, thanks to my commanding officers, here."

"So what does that have to do with _us_?" Andrea said, voicing the frustrations of everyone else. Was the man being coy, or was he so fucking full of himself that he kept on going off on tangents? He lowered his fork to the plate and took a swallow from the glass of red wine that sat next to him, smiling as he put it back to the table.

"Your choice is not to merely live or die, but to live very well, or die very slowly and very painfully."

Pru cocked her eyebrow at the man, and when he didn't get the reaction from the four stoic women that he'd wanted, he proceeded after clearing his throat.

"...The surviving members of the scouting team that brought you here this evening told me of the fight you ladies put up. Both in hand to hand, and with weapons…And I must say I am rather impressed. You were, no doubt assets to your group…Assets that I hope to attain. I'm offering you the chance to become rather crucial members of our army…Your reward will not only be your lives, but you'll get your own home, or homes, if you prefer…You'll have peace of mind and permanent security in this place. You'll never go hungry or thirsty, or want for anything again."

Pru saw Merle nodding sagely at the other man's words. She looked to him and saw that he was addressing the woman to his right, Andrea.

"Got me a nice little house up the road here." He said as he sucked at his teeth and nodded in a vague direction, right arm bent outward at the elbow with what would have been his palm flat on his lap. The way in which he'd done it was further reminder of who's older brother he'd been. Daryl made the exact same gesture, the exact same way all the time. She frowned and averted her eyes from him down to the quickly cooling meal in front of her, the ache in her heart almost too much. She found herself wanting to jump the gun, draw her knife, and fly across the table at him.

"So what's our other option?" Michonne dared. Merle and Deacon shared conspiring chuckles immediately. The Governor took another small sip of wine.

"My little niece. Penny." He said simply.

"Come again?" Andrea asked.

"Penny." He repeated, motioning to with his head to the doorway they'd come in through. Pru suddenly became very aware of a hissing noise floating in through the other room along with the music that was still playing. The tiny, withered, and dried corpse was fighting pathetically against the catchpole that was being used to guide her into the room. Beth whimpered at the horrific sight. Pru had heard the detailed accounts of more than one of their group member's about the day that Shane had opened that barn up. The sight, no doubt, was causing her to relive bits of it just then.

"I have this problem, you see. My poor niece is always _ravenously_ hungry. I've offered her everything…The only thing she seems to enjoy, however, is human flesh…And the fresher, the better."

The tiny walker struggled against the wire at her throat and snapped her boney jaws at them all like an alligator. The too loud sound made Pru's stomach churn and she began to finger nervously at the seam at her knee. Her hands wanted so badly to move for the blade stashed just a few inches lower.

"Now, I won't be cruel and make you all decide on the spot. I'll give you a few days to mull it over. Until then, you'll be allowed to roam freely among the people of the town. However…If any of you make any attempts at an escape, or you injure or kill any resident, you'll be forfeiting your choice and you'll be dealt with swiftly." The Governor said running his eyes over Beth, Andrea, and then Michonne.

"I don't know how much my answer will change over the course of a few days." Pru found herself chuckling.

"You see now," Merle spoke up again, "Here's the sad bit…We don' take to kindly to murders 'round here… Now, if I remember Deacon's story correctly, you went an' scrambled up his buddy Bill's brain real good with a pencil or sum'mat. Ain't that right, brother?"

"S'right, Merle. Scrambled." He answered before swilling down a few large gulps of his pisswater beer, "An' then shot me all up."

"Assault to boot!" Merle hooted. Pru aimed her angry growl across the table to him.

"We all know what they did to me."

"Don' matter, Peggy Sue. Murder's the Ace. It trumps all other cards…An' for that, you don' get the choice yer friends get…No, you get to live! An' live you will with all them little promises Deacon made to you all the way here." Merle smiled.

In her horrified desperation, she suddenly found herself looking to the Governor for help. He shrugged at her as if the matter was out of his hands. Her blood boiled while her skin crawled.

She'd come into the room expecting what was just said. She'd expected what they would subject her and the other women to, but after having that small glimmer of hope for escape dangled in front of her only to have it snatched away with a reason soaked in hypocrisy, she became enraged.

With barely a thought, she'd reached down to the sheath strapped to her boot and pulled the knife out. Before anyone realized what was happening, she had Deacon's right hand pinned to the table, palm down. The man squalled in pain and she roared into his ear, glaring at Merle as she twisted the hilt. She saw Merle go for the gun at his back, then looked back to the Governor, who looked a bit bewildered, and grabbed hold of one of Deacon's thick mutton chops, bringing the knife to his throat. The men in the corner of the room were still too preoccupied with Penny, who now had the scent of fresh blood, to pull any weapons on her.

"Remember this game, Merle?!" she just about shrieked, pressing the sharp blade into his friend's throat, "Both of ya. Guns. Now."

"Shootin' fer double homicide?" Merle sneered as he slowly produced his gun and slid it across the table. She took her eye off it for a second to motion to the Governor that he was to pass his off to Michonne, and then brought her eyes back to Merle's.

"Whatever it takes, _sweetheart_." She hissed. She looked down at Deacon and yanked on the thick hair on his cheek.

"It's razor sharp. Ya flinch and ya're a dead man."

After a second of relishing his pained grunts and panting, she let go of his sideburn and grabbed for Merle's discarded gun. Her hand found it quickly and she flicked the safety off and aimed it down at Deacon and then at Merle for emphasis.

"Wall." She ordered, still holding tightly to the knife at Deacon's neck. She nodded to Andrea, beckoning her to her to pull the gun free of Deacon's waistband. She watched as Michonne lined both the Governor and Merle up, facing the wall. Andrea pulled the gun free and immediately aimed it at the woman who'd been sneaking in from the kitchen with a knife meant for Beth's back.

"Toss it." She demanded. The woman complied easily and chucked the knife across the floor and it slid under somebody's grandmother's china hutch.

Once that was dealt with, Pru took the knife from Deacon's neck and pressed the gun hard into his back, forcing him to the wall with the other two. His bleeding hand made a tiny creek of red down the ornately papered wall. She heard Andrea's steps moving behind her. She walked up to Penny and fired a single shot that tore through the former child's skull and exited into the gut of the man who'd been hanging onto her at bay with the catch.

"You'll regret that." The Governor said through gritted teeth.

"No. We won't." was Michonne's frank answer. Another shot followed Andrea's first, and their path out of the house was clear. Andrea ducked to retrieve the fourth man's gun as well and then called to Beth, handing it off with a look that said, "_They don't know you can barely use it_".

"You ain't gettin' far." Merle assured.

"Won't get anywhere if we don't try, amiright?" she joked as she started backing out of the room. Michonne covered her as they began running out the front door into the cold night air.

"Which way?!" Andrea asked voice barely discernable over the sound of their rushed movements across the pavement.

"Pick one! We'll hit a wall eventually and go over it!" Michonne replied. They flew off to the left of the house, ducking around the house next door. They could hear shouting on the street behind them and the rumble of big engines somewhere not too far off as they raced through the neighborhood.

"I- I can't-" Beth panted. Pru grabbed for the girl's wrist and began yanking her along. Pru started out running Andrea, even with Beth in tow behind her. They were about to blaze past another old porch when everything went black.

** ...**

She couldn't see anything. She tried to open her eyes, but there was a pressure and a weight that she could place holding them shut. And the pain._ HOLY HELL _the fucking pain. It was radiating from the center of her face, and she knew it could have only been one thing. Her nose was broken. Badly. And if she was right about her nose, it would explain why her eyes were swollen shut.

She went to move her arms and found that they were bound above her head. Her finger tips were beginning to go numb. She struggled weakly against her bindings and then gave up, opting to call out for her friends quietly. Their names came out as nasally, pained groans.

"They ain't here…S'just you an' me. We got us some alone time."

She began struggling hard this time, kicking out frantically in any direction she could. Something impacted her stomach, forcing the fight from her instantly. He chucked as she sputtered.

"…I got yer knife here. Thought you might wanna know where it is."

Her head was pounding and now every breath was painful. She felt him move closer and she held her breath, shrinking away from him, knowing he had the knife in his hand. She felt a small tug on her shirt and then heard and felt the material being cut away. She winced and began to cry.

"Shh, shh, shh…Now lemme see all these pretty pictures you got here…Why don' we trace o're a couple'a these."

And the pain, as he lightly began to carve into her, was intense and sharp, and unlike anything she'd ever felt before.


End file.
